Mala Fide: In Bad Faith
by Sue Bridehead
Summary: COMPLETE! Sequel to 'My Hypocrisy Knows No Bounds'. The aftermath of what happened on the night that Ginny Malfoy's life was forever changed by Harry Potter.
1. Prologue

Author's Notes: This is the promised sequel to "My Hypocrisy Knows No Bounds." (You need to read that one first for this to make sense.) This piece is a very short prologue; I'm not sure how far I'll take this idea, but a plot is forming in my twisted, warped little brain. I can only promise you, it won't be pretty.

Your feedback would be appreciated. If there is sufficient interest, I will write and post more chapters as I have time. Please read and review. Thanks. :-D

**_Mala_****_ Fide: In Bad Faith_**

**Prologue **

Saturday, March 12th, 2005.

It was a day that would not soon be forgotten by anyone in Britain's magical community. Wizards and witches in Germany were also crushed, asking over and over how such a terrible thing could happen in their beautiful, historic city of Frankfurt.

An utter waste. Two of Britain's most prominent and promising young wizards, neither of them 25 years old, gone. And nothing – _nothing – _could be done to console either of their widows.

The harshest cold of the Frankfurt night had nearly passed. Still, heavy sleet blew persistently across the Rhein, so fiercely that anyone who was unfortunate enough to be outdoors would find breathing difficult. Even Apparating had been tricky, but the handful of aurors from the British Ministry of Magic had managed to arrive, unsplinched and apparently unharmed. Not even stopping for an early morning cup of tea, they quickly and efficiently set about doing their job. All of them were quite keen to get this "bloody mess" over with and get out of the country without drawing undue attention to themselves or their purpose.

They were there to question and quite possibly arrest the most famous hero of their world, a 24-year-old wizard named Harry Potter, for a heinous crime, an unthinkable crime. He stood accused of using the Imperius Curse to brutally rape his dear friend of many years, Mrs. Ginevra Weasley Malfoy. She had signed a sworn affidavit of her view of the facts, and she was certain, without a shred of doubt, that it was he who attacked her.

The aurors banged loudly on the door of Mr. Potter's lavish hotel room. Waiting outside for the bolt to unlatch, they fully expected to be admitted by the tenant, and they were _–_ eventually. But he was not as cooperative as they had hoped. Unknown to the law enforcement team, he was not alone; Ginevra's husband, Draco Malfoy, had turned up on the scene shortly before them, intent on settling things with Potter _his_ way.

Instead, Harry Potter had killed him in an instant, by simply outdueling him. Harry had always been a gifted dueler. Draco knew this; he had challenged Potter numerous times during their school days, a time when they were bitter enemies. At the time, young Malfoy, a rich boy with an inferiority complex and insane jealousy of Potter, would either not show up at the appointed time, or when he did, he would usually regret it, frequently being outdone by his rival.

Over the years, however, their relationship had turned from the adversarial nature that had permeated their school days to something akin to . . . well, if not quite _friendship_, one of mutual respect. They eventually learned to be civil to one another; given their close ties through Draco's new family connections to the Weasleys, and their wide circle of friends, it had proved to be essential. At the Weasley-Malfoy wedding, Draco and Harry met in private, where they agreed to make peace and finally 'bury the hatchet' on their past.

But no longer. On hearing of the vicious and unprovoked attack on his innocent wife, Draco was incensed. The only place _he_ wanted to bury any hatchets was squarely into Harry Potter's famous forehead, and he would not be turned from his task. He intended to snuff the life out of Harry Potter's body, even if it meant life imprisonment for himself. In the heat of the moment, he convinced himself that his reasons were justified; he might even be able to get a reduced or suspended sentence, given the cruel humiliation that Ginny had suffered. And worse yet, she might have conceived a child by that . . that . . . ruthless_ monster._

This time, he would stop at nothing to get his revenge.

When the aurors finally managed to break through the thick barrier, Draco lay dead on the floor, his gray eyes staring, unseeing, at the ceiling. Harry turned his wand on them, screaming wildly, "You'll never win, Malfoy!", the madness glowing in his green eyes. They didn't know he was only frightened – cornered like a wild animal – and the experienced auror team felt threatened. A junior auror, thinking Potter had snapped and might kill at random, raised his wand and uttered the killing curse. He was later absolved of any wrongdoing by his superiors, as it was obviously a cut-and-dried case of self-defense. No one blamed the young man, not even Hermione Potter.

Mrs. Potter and her one-time best friend Ginevra each went on with their lives. They mourned separately; they grew apart. Barely speaking to one another even at each other's husband's funerals, neither of them was ever the same.

End

Note: If you would like to see more, please let me know in your review, or send me an e-mail. Your comments and feedback are appreciated!

And for all you "Unbidden Desires" fans, the next chapter will be online soon - !


	2. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: I heard from a few people that they would like to see this continue. (I just wanted to hear you beg-!) So . . . moving right along, here is Chapter 1. If anyone appears to be out of character, it is intentional. As always, thank you to Fyrechild, for accepting the challenge of being my beta reader! You are always a big help to me. :-)

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 1**_

"Cissy? Lucius? Are you at home?" Ginny walked into the enormous entryway of Malfoy Manor as casually as she had done for the past six years. Large with child, she waddled through the front part of the house, searching for its occupants or perhaps a servant. Upon reaching the formal dining room, she was greeted enthusiastically by an eager house-elf, who appeared silently from out of nowhere, as they were prone to do.

"Oh! Toddy, you surprised me!" Ginny said, lifting one hand on her heart.

"Good day, young Mrs. Malfoy! How is Missus?"

"I'm very well. And you?"

"Toddy is well, too," he responded and added courteously, "thank you for inquiring about Toddy's health. Is Missus looking for the master or the mistress?"

"Cissy -- I mean _Mrs._ Malfoy," she quickly corrected herself as she removed her cloak and handed it to Toddy. "Is she back from her trip to Diagon Alley?"

"Yes, ma'am. Both the master and the mistress are at home. They are in the east parlor, having their afternoon tea." Ginny suppressed a groan as she thought, _That's on the other side of the bloody house!_ She couldn't keep from wincing slightly at the thought of such a long walk on her swollen, tired feet. The elf offered politely, "Does young Mrs. Malfoy need Toddy's help?"

She knew she would get there eventually; it was just that with her baby's arrival a few weeks away, getting around was becoming somewhat of a strain. As her mother had done during each of her seven pregnancies, Ginny had gotten uncomfortably large when she was expecting her first child, and her second time around was no exception. Yet she refused the help, saying, "No, thank you, Toddy, I'm sure I can manage." He left her to it, vanishing with a snap of his fingers.

Moving through the corridors and huge rooms at a slow but steady pace, she marveled once more at the sheer size and beauty of the Malfoy palatial estate. Marble from Rome, opulent chandeliers, exquisite, handmade Arabian tapestries, and furniture that was woefully expensive but never gaudy filled their family home. Ginny wondered how Draco must have felt as a child here, knowing that he could touch very little of what was around him. She had grown up in the rather austere surroundings of the Burrow, where everyone had had to share everything and not one knut was wasted. She tried to picture Draco as a young boy at _her_ family home and nearly laughed aloud at such a hysterical idea.

Thinking about him so unguardedly, without preparing herself for it, a pang of sadness mingled with a hint of guilt cut through to her core. Its was especially sharp this time, considering what she had learned less than an hour ago. She shuddered involuntarily. His untimely death still tormented her; the worst part was that she felt partially responsible for it. It seemed that the afternoon of March 11th and the hours that followed would forever haunt her.

She was drawn out of her anguished thoughts by a willowy, handsome woman moving up the hallway. Ginny's face lit up in a warm smile at the sight of her, and Narcissa Malfoy greeted her pleasantly, "There you are, my dear. Toddy said you were back." She grasped her daughter-in-law's hands, kissed her on both cheeks, and then stepped back to get a look at her. With a faint curve of her lips, she admired, "You're looking so well, my dear. What did the doctor say? Were the tests successful?"

Perhaps against Narcissa's better judgment, she had approved of Ginny's going to a muggle physician – just this once – but for a very good reason. It was to validate the parentage of the child growing in her womb. The mediwizard profession did have its own way to check this, but its reliability was dodgy at best. The test could be foiled by a skilled patient or even botched by a well-meaning yet incompetent practitioner.

Ginny relaxed as she replied, "It's definitely a Malfoy. And this time, it's a boy, so now, we'll – _I'll_ have one of each."

Quiet tears of release and joy flowed from Narcissa's striking blue eyes as she hugged her son's widow. "That's wonderful news, darling. You must be _so_ relieved." They stood close together for several moments, elated at their good fortune that Ginny was definitely not carrying the child of Harry Potter – the seditious bastard who had raped her seven months before. And because of his cruel actions against Ginny, her own husband was dead, cut down in the prime of life by the so-called 'hero'.

If Draco's passing had been difficult for his mother, it had been simply horrible for his wife. She still cried herself to sleep now and again. She couldn't begin to think of moving on . . . of maybe finding a new man to love and to help raise her children. She was still in love with Draco, and even if he were only a memory now, she missed him dreadfully. At least now she would have his son to help her remember him and to carry on the family name in his absence.

Their young daughter, Rhiannon, seemed to be enjoying her life at the manor, and her grandparents lavished her with attention and presents. A few months shy of five years old, she did not fully understand where Daddy was. She often asked why he was gone away from her for so long, when would he return to her, and whether he would bring her a perfectly splendid present, like a pony. She also wanted to know why she couldn't go see her cousins at Uncle George and Aunt Katie's house.

But Ginny wouldn't hear of it; she had cut herself off from most of her family when she said to them that she was glad – delirious, actually – that Harry was dead. Her callous attitude had ripped through the heart of her relationships with Ron, Hermione, and many of her brothers. Ron had gone so far as to call her a heartless bitch, completely brainwashed by that smarmy ferret she had so foolishly married. The two siblings hadn't spoken to one another since.

But she didn't care. She was angry. She could not forgive Harry his sins, nor would she listen to any who dared to support him – those who said she was obviously mistaken, that Harry would _never_ do such a thing. They claimed that he must have been under Imperius himself, or perhaps Ginny was somehow deluded.

And she never looked back. She had a new family; the Malfoys were her family now. They welcomed her, and they loved her. They were kind to her. She and her daughter were very happy living there.

Narcissa released her and swiped at her own tears. Still standing close to one another, Ginny asked with concern, "Cissy, are you all right?"

She replied as indifferently as possible, "Of course, dear. Why do you ask?"

Ginny took on her Molly Weasley persona, albeit rather tentatively. It didn't seem right to her, scolding her own mother-in-law, but she felt compelled to say something. "You just seem like – well, as if you may have lost some weight." Laying her hands on the woman's narrow shoulders, she remarked, "You feel so very thin. You _must_ take care of yourself. Have you been eating, and walking the grounds? You can't crawl in your shell and die; you have to eat, and being active is—"

She paused briefly then asked her bluntly, "Mother, have you been brooding again?"

Narcissa's eyes drew wide as her lips parted. She wept quietly, nodding guiltily, as if to say 'Yes' and 'I'm sorry' without words.

Ginny addressed her in an even more Molly-like tone, saying in a stern yet quiet voice, "Your husband is back, Narcissa. He's reformed. He _needs_ you." Taking the older woman's slightly emaciated face in her swollen fingers, she looked her directly in the eye and commanded, "And you must be here for him." Then she whispered solemnly, "All men need their wives. Treasure him. What I wouldn't give if mine were to walk through that door, right now, and hold me once more."

Narcissa swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded her head rapidly; she knew her daughter-in-law was right. Many times, the elder Mrs. Malfoy had said things like, 'Wise beyond her years, that girl,' and, 'She's been through a lot that many of us will never know.'

Her attempt to respond to Ginny's mild scolding was interrupted by a silky male voice which flattered, "Ginevra, how radiant you look. You're positively glowing, my dear." Lucius Malfoy put his arm around her shoulder with familiarity and patted her russet-colored hair. "So how did things go with the muggle?" he inquired, wearing a rather tight smile. "Was he able to answer your questions satisfactorily?"

"Oh, yes, Lucius. _She_ did." At his raised eyebrow, she clarified, "Dr. Winterbourne is a woman. Thank you for asking me and for trusting her opinion. I was just telling your wife the baby is definitely a Malfoy and a boy. So it looks like Rhiannon will have a little brother quite soon. An early Christmas present for her."

Lucius beamed, "That's wonderful news, Ginny. This calls for a toast. Toddy! Champagne for everyone!" The faithful little servant arrived moments later, laden with a sterling wine cooler and a fine silver tray with three fluted crystal glasses. In the cooler was a bottle of chilled French champagne, immersed up to its slender neck in ice. Toddy popped the cork with a snap of his fingers, lifted the bottle gingerly, and began pouring their drinks.

"Oh, none for me, Lucius, thank you," Ginny refused politely. "Dr. Winterbourne says alcohol is very bad for an unborn child."

Lucius relented, saying, "If you insist. Just two glasses, Toddy; one for myself and one for my darling wife." The house-elf bowed his head respectfully. He finished filling the first glass, then the other. The third was magically replaced with a tall, refreshing glass of lemonade, which Toddy floated deftly over to Ginny. She nodded her thanks, and with a smile and slight dip of his head, the servant vanished.

"This is a great day for the Malfoys," Lucius continued with a satisfied smile. "We shall have an heir."

Ginny interjected, "_Another_ heir, you mean. We still have Rhiannon."

Narcissa, whose emotions were quite in check by now, spoke encouragingly. "Of course we have, love. What Lucius meant was that now Draco has fathered a son, there will be someone to carry on the family name. Even though he himself will not be—"

She got very quiet, not wishing to upset Ginny. But right now, the young woman was overjoyed; she was having Draco's son, and nothing could knock her off her cloud.

Raising his glass, Lucius announced proudly, "To the continuation of the Malfoy line." He took a sip then said, "Amazing that muggles have invented such a – what did you call it? Medicative procedure?" He guided the ladies toward the nearest room where they could sit down, which happened to be his private library.

"Medical procedure," Ginny corrected. "Yes, their technology has come a long way. You should know _that_, Lucius. You're the one who's always whinging that it's 'overrunning the world'," she mocked.

Narcissa chucked softly and lowered her glass as she sat down gracefully. She interrupted their discussion with an honest question. "Exactly how does this procedure work?"

"I don't fully understand it myself," Ginny admitted, sinking into her favorite seat in the room, a plush, deep burgundy chaise lounge. She leaned back and raised her feet to relax, all the while holding her glass carefully to ensure that its contents did not spill onto the magnificent Oriental rug that graced the center of the room. She took another drink then went on. "The doctor's office had asked me if I could bring in a sample of hair – either Harry's or Draco's would do. And the test proved beyond a doubt that it's **not** Harry's."

Narcissa offered her two sickels, noting, "Incredible that they could tell so much from such a little thing! I wonder," she mused curiously, "does it work something like Polyjuice Potion?"

Ginny pondered, "It might. It had something to do with . . 'genetics', the nurse called it. But what was more incredible was that I even had the hair sample. I had nearly forgotten about it; I stole it from him back when I was bonkers over him at school." She paused briefly before explaining, "One year, Harry stayed with us for a few days during the summer hols and was sleeping in Ron's room. I snuck in there early one morning and cut off a lock of his hair – you know, as sort of a keepsake." She stopped again and looked down at her hands. Swirling the lemonade around in her half-full glass to mix up the pulp, she shrugged and admitted with a sheepish grin, "Shows how bad my schoolgirl crush really was.

"Anyway, when I heard how this medical procedure worked, I was so glad that I had taken it _and_ that I'd never thrown it out. After speaking with Dr. Winterbourne's nurse last week, I dug around in my old Hogwarts stuff and found my wandbox. It was brimming with treasures, articles I had sworn I would never discard: photos of various cute boys, the ones I had wished were mine – all of them waving and smiling, just for me; memories from school dances . . fancy invitations, pressed corsages made of deep red roses, greenery, and baby's breath, now faded and brittle—" She smiled wistfully, summarizing, "All the silly things a young girl cherishes."

Both of them were still eyeing her intently, so she continued. "After I graduated, Draco and I started to get pretty serious; thinking of marriage, children, and all that. My first thought was to get rid of my old school things – you know, put it all behind me. I always meant to go through it, and you know, just pitch the lot. But I guess it came in rather handy today." Laughing softly to herself, she added, "So this time, my procrastination proved to be the key to solving a mystery. And I couldn't be happier."

Her in-laws nodded; even if they didn't really understand how this 'test' had proven anything, they were glad that she was reassured. And if she was, then they were, too.

Lucius finished off his champagne and sighed deeply. He set his glass down, then rising to his feet, he announced, "My dears, I must take my leave now. I have plans for this evening." At Narcissa's disappointed glance, he reminded her, "I promised I would take a look at that pony over in Poole. You know, the gray one we've been thinking of getting – _for Rhiannon's birthday._" He whispered the last few words just in case the little imp was prowling about the library, eavesdropping. "It's gorgeous, Ginevra. Its coat is the same color as her eyes."

"Now, Lucius, you don't have to do that," Ginny stated plainly, standing up to face him. "She doesn't _need_ a pony, or any animal, for that matter. She's much too young."

"Nonsense! Can't I spoil my only granddaughter?" he asked teasingly. "Just a little?" The girl's mother smirked at him; assuming that all was forgiven, he changed the subject. "I will probably end up staying for dinner, so please don't wait up for me." Then Lucius drew his wife close, kissed her hand tenderly, and murmured something into her ear, something private which made her laugh gently.

Ginny turned away, focusing on what remained of her lemonade: mostly ice, a thin slice of citrus, and pulp. She glanced up and noticed that a fresh glass had very recently appeared on a coaster on the marble-top desk next to her, a sliver of lemon floating to the top. Picking up the glass, she marveled at Toddy's intuition; he was a very clever elf. It was almost as if the little fellow _could_ read her mind.

She looked around again and saw that Lucius had gone. With a slightly misty look in her eyes, Narcissa walked over to the chaise lounge and took Ginny's hand, helping her to her feet. "Now," she said breathily, "to name your child."

They sauntered over to the bookshelves, the older woman surveying them carefully. Ginny wasn't sure what she was supposed to be looking for, but Narcissa soon placed a long finger on the first of three large, ruby-spined volumes, a golden "M" emblazoned on each of them. Lifting from its resting place, she blew the dust off of the Malfoy crest that graced the outer cover. She asked excitedly, "Let's take a look, shall we? I'm certain one of these volumes has the name of every Malfoy ever born. And we're going to find the perfect one for your little bundle of joy."

End of Chapter

Notes: Now, don't fret; if you read the prequel, then you know as well as I do that Lucius is not as 'reformed' as Ginny might believe (I like my Lucius mean and evil)! Thanks for reading, and please review. :-)


	3. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Thank you, fyrechild, for beta-ing me. You're a braver soul than most - ! ;-)

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 2**_

"Now?" she asked anxiously.

"Shhhh . . . Be patient, love."

And she was actually patient _and_ quiet. The cool air crackled with silent energy and excitement.

Aside from their breathing, the only sounds to be heard were the muffled ones made by their boots as they sifted through the fallen leaves and fading grass. The first snow of the season had come the night before, lightly dusting the last signs of autumn with white as the old season relinquished to the new. Melting snow had robbed the leaves of that crisp, dry sound they made when she crushed them with her feet. Rhiannon had always loved hearing that, but now, she was far too excited to even notice its absence.

Her patience failed again, and this time, she practically whined, "_Now?"_

"Almost."

Her eyes were shut tight and her petite hands cupped over them. He guided her, holding onto her upper arm gently as they meandered through the garden of bare trees and empty vines. He lifted a warning finger and reminded her, "No peeking, Rhiannon." Not only were her eyes closed, but her pale red brows were knitted so tightly together that not a smidgen of light could have possibly slipped through. Yet he asked her teasingly, "Are you _sure_ you can't see, just a little?"

"No, Grandpa, I swear. Not a thing," the little girl promised earnestly. Then she pleaded, "Are we almost there?"

Suddenly, he stopped. He stepped behind her silently, placing a hand on each of her slender forearms. Before he uncovered her eyes, she heard a mild cough and sniff a few feet away. Then there was something like a snort. She fidgeted as he made her wait a few seconds more. He eventually leaned down and released his light grip; her strawberry blonde hair stirred slightly when he whispered, "All right, then. _Now._"

She removed her tiny hands from in front of her silvery-gray eyes. They drew as wide as saucers at the wonderful sight they beheld: the most gorgeous pony she had ever seen. Her chin dropped down as her mouth formed a perfect "O" then curved into a delighted smile.

For once, she was utterly speechless. Her grandfather said just three little words, but they meant the world to her.

"Happy birthday, poppet."

She turned and leapt into Lucius's arms, squealing enthusiastically, "Oh, _thank_ you, Grandpa! She's brilliant!" She ran up and touched her present. The pony's shoulders didn't reach much higher than her own, and its mane, recently brushed by the house-elves, was smooth and silky. Rhiannon petted its rich gray coat, which was already thickening for winter; she relished its amazingly soft feel. "What's her name?"

Lucius smiled. "That's entirely up to you. Do you really like her?"

"Oh, I _love_ her! Honestly, she's the most wonderful thing I've ever seen!" his granddaughter raved.

Her mother and grandmother moved forward, closing the gap they promised they would keep until she had seen the animal. She ran to them and grabbed each one by the hand, dragging them over to see her new pony, as if they couldn't have noticed it yet.

She prompted excitedly, "Isn't she smashing, Mummy? Thank you, Grandma! Thank you, Grandpa!"

Ginny laughed to herself. Rhiannon's grandmother said, "You're welcome, darling. We're so pleased that you like her." The girl turned her attention to the pony once more and stroked its mane lovingly. Taking a brush from a waiting elf, one who tended to the plants and animals on the estate, she brushed the beast's magnificent coat.

Turning to Ginny, Cissy marveled, "It _is_ the color of her eyes, isn't it?"

"Indeed," she replied. "It's quite beautiful. And it looks as though Lucius has found an ardent young admirer."

"Please, Grandpa, can I ride her this morning?" the youngster implored.

"Surely, the pony's not ready to _ride_, Lucius—" Ginny began.

"Yes, she is, Ginevera. And yes, young lady, you certainly may." His own horse was being brought out, already saddled and geared up for a leisurely ride. The precocious five-year-old admired her pony a bit longer while a house-elf magically saddled it. The little servant stepped aside and gave her a boost. She swung her leg over as if she had done this a thousand times before, settling right in and following her grandfather's experienced lead.

He said, "Come on – let's see what your pony's got, hmm? Wait a minute; what have we here?" He reached inside his cloak and pulled out a small basket, one that was obviously charmed so that the inside was much larger than the outside appeared. He announced, "Looks like we've got a picnic. When you get hungry, I'll just say the 'magic words', and we'll eat cake till we're sick of it."

Rhiannon turned around and waved madly. "Bye, Mummy, bye, Grandma! We'll be back later!"

Lucius clicked his tongue and lightly kicked his horse's flanks, commanding the animal to start moving. Rhiannon followed his example. She was so excited that she chattered on until they were out of earshot. "I know, Grandpa! Let's call her Lady Godiva. Mummy told me she was a lady who rode on her horse with no clothes on at all, wrapped up only in her long hair. She just rode right through town. Everyone stared and stared, but she didn't mind. She was very brave. I hope it was summer time; if it was near my birthday, she would have been cold. Do you know that story, Grandpa? I like it, 'cause her long hair reminds me of Mummy's . . ." Her sing-song voice faded away as the pair strolled out of the gardens.

As the riders left, the two women looked on wistfully. Ginny was glad that Rhiannon was so taken with her long-absent grandfather. Maybe the two of them _could_ have a somewhat normal relationship.

Pressing her hands to her lower back, she shifted her weight. Then she turned to her mother-in-law and sighed, "Well, _that's_ over with. Let's take our walk now, shall we?"

"Are you sure you're up for it? I mean, the mediwizard said—"

"That walking is good for everyone, especially pregnant women. And it's even good for _you_, Mother."

They started by pacing around the gardens. Narcissa slipped her slender hand in the crook of Ginny's arm, locking it there as if using her for support. For a while, they walked along in silent companionship.

But Ginny was not exactly in the mood for quiet reflection this morning. With the impending birth of her baby, silence usually gave her too much time to think about her dead husband. She frequently talked to herself – _anything_ to break the unbearable, unending silence.

"Yes," she began casually, "Rhiannon seems quite pleased with her gift. But I do wish he hadn't insisted on getting her a pony. Animals can be so unpredictable, and she's still quite young." Narcissa rolled her eyes, but Ginny went on. "Besides, what five-year-old has a pony?"

"Well, my son, for one." For a moment, Ginny was slightly stunned, but then she thought to herself,_ Why should that surprise me?_ Narcissa patted her hand gently and said, "There now, you're just being silly. The man who sold her promised she was quite gentle. Besides, see how happy it makes her? And how pleased Lucius was at her reaction?" She reassured her, "I'm sure he'll be very careful. She'll be fine."

Ginny decided that perhaps her mother-in-law was right. Surely, the child's grandfather would look out for her well-being. Feeling the baby within her stretch and kick one of its limbs, she stopped short. "Oooh, I believe this little guy may take after his father. He'll be ready to play Quidditch at Hogwarts in no time."

Narcissa said confidently, "No doubt, he will. But please don't tell Lucius; he'll want to give him a racing broomstick at his arrival party."

A soft laugh escaped Ginny's lips. A half-second later, she clasped onto the bony hand which encircled her arm. Tears flooding her eyes, she bit down on her lip and whispered, "Cissy . . . my water just broke. It's time."

"Finally!" Her mother-in-law admonished the unborn child, "What took you so long?" Magically enhancing her voice with the _Sonorus _spell, she faced the manor and commanded authoritatively, "Toddy! Come quickly!"

The obedient elf appeared within seconds, bowing and asking, "Yes, Missus? How can Toddy help?"

She pointed her wand to her throat again and said, _"Quietus."_ She calmly explained the situation to the spry little elf, who beamed with excitement. Next, she instructed him to prepare Ginny's bag for Saint Mungo's and then to send someone to retrieve her husband and granddaughter, who were out riding. Turning to Ginny, who looked rather pale, she cooed, "There now, dear. You've done this before; you'll be fine."

_Yes, I have, _she thought apprehensively, _but that time, my own mother was there, holding my hand, and my husband was too, coaching me through it . . how will I manage this time, when I'm virtually alone?_ Ginny swallowed nervously, her mind a flurry of anticipation and anxiety. All the while, she vaguely overhead her mother-in-law recommending places where Lucius and Rhiannon might be found.

The expectant mother closed her eyes, focusing on one thing: _This is a part of him, the last thing he could give me – and he'll live on, through me, through his son._

This one fact encouraged her. She reassured herself silently, _It's okay. I **can** do this_.

Toddy hadn't noticed Ginny's distress, or maybe he just had the good manners not to bring it up. "Oh, Toddy is so excited! We is having _another_ birthday today!" he exclaimed giddily, his eyes shining as he looked up at the young missus. His mistress, already turning to walk Ginny up to the house, reminded him insistently that time was of the essence. Soon, he was all business and vanished to tend to his tasks.

The four Malfoys arrived at Saint Mungo's within an hour of Ginny's first sign of labor. After that, it was a long and tedious wait, especially for the older sister of the stubborn little boy who just wouldn't come out fast enough for her liking.

When the newest Malfoy finally arrived seven hours later, his mother was utterly exhausted, and his sister bored to tears. After the little one was cleaned and wrapped in a bundle, Ginny held him for several minutes. She wept tears of joy mingled with sadness for the son Draco would never know. The young Assistant Healer soon took the newborn to the nursery to perform all the routine tests and document the birth. Lucius went along with her, just to see that things were handled properly.

Early in the evening, Lucius picked up his granddaughter, who was dozing lightly on a chaise lounge in Ginny's private room, and the three of them returned home. The young mother rested alone for several hours, until she was awakened in the middle of the night by a hospital staff member to feed the tiny baby. This Healer was older, perhaps Narcissa's or maybe even Mrs. Weasley's age. Ginny, still slightly groggy from the delivery, wondered fleetingly whether she had known either of them at school.

Since Molly was young, she had had a talent for the Healing arts. Having seen the horrible things that were happening in their world, some of them to her own relatives, she felt it was her duty to share that talent with others. She began an apprenticeship training program, but after getting married and having three sons in quick succession, she was forced to set her career aspirations aside. Her calling was evidently to be a full-time mother, and her children were what she devoted her life to.

While Ginny nursed her little boy, the Healer magically checked their vital signs and annotated each one's chart. Taking note of her motions, she asked the woman sleepily, "I was just wondering something, ma'am. My mother wanted to become a Healer, and I thought you might remember her from school. Her name was Molly Prewett, now Weasley."

The lady looked a bit stunned at the question, and her mouth fell open in surprise. "Do I remember Molly Prewett? Oh, goodness, yes! Everyone knew Molly; she and Arthur are both such wonderful people."

She paused briefly and pressed the feather end of her quill against her chin, musing, "Come to think of it, I did hear that after all those boys, they finally had a daughter. And that would be you?" The Healer's demeanor, and the post-delivery pain potions she had taken, caused Ginny to smile weakly and laugh softly in spite of herself.

The woman lowered her tortoise-shell spectacles and squinted her eyes, studying her patient in the dim light the candles afforded. Then she smiled broadly, observing, "Of course, you are – _now_ I see the family resemblance. My name is Olivette Bainbridge, but everyone has always called me Olive. And you are—" she paused to look at her chart more closely. "Ginevra M. Malfoy? Weasley before, of course. So how are your parents? Do you see them often? Are you expecting them to visit sometime tomorrow?" she quizzed eagerly.

Ginny looked back down at the wriggling little baby. "No, I doubt it," was all she said. Moving him to her other side, she continued nursing.

"That's too bad," Olive said disappointedly. "I had hoped . . . well, I rather hoped to see them. It would have been nice, and since _you're_ here – I just thought they might, you know, pop in."

Pulling a thick strand of her ginger hair out of the baby's reach, Ginny mumbled hesitantly, "We've had sort of a . . falling out, actually. I don't think they know I'm here."

"Well, we're going to set that right – right now, young lady!" her attendant insisted in an upbeat tone. "Are your parents on the Floo Network?"

"No, no – please, don't trouble yourself," Ginny appealed politely.

Olive hesitated momentarily but then plunged her nose firmly in where it did not belong. "Did this 'falling out' have anything to do with the fact that you married a Malfoy? Or was it because of—"

Ginny's warning glance told her she was pressing too far. The woman backed off, saying in a rush, "Please give your family my congratulations on such a fine young grandson. He's just adorable." She picked the boy up gently and turned to leave when his mother called her back.

"Wait—" Ginny began. "I'm sorry. It's just that . . well, you see . . . it's been quite difficult, moving ahead. I just don't need any setbacks, that's all. My brothers have – well, they haven't exactly been _supportive_."

Olive set the baby down in his carrier. She walked over to Ginny and stroked her hand sympathetically. "I understand, I do. I myself very nearly married someone my family did not approve of." She looked down then sat in the chair next to the bed, momentarily wondering whether she should tell this to someone who was practically a stranger to her. But then she reasoned that the girl was, after all, Molly and Arthur's daughter, so she pressed on. "I wanted to marry him, but it would have _killed_ them. So as it turned out, neither of us ever got married." She shrugged, saying, "It was probably for the best. But we never stopped loving each other.

"Years later, he died, doing what he loved: trying to make the world a better place. I withdrew completely; I threw myself into my work. You know, to help me forget – to push aside that pain. I could have been very angry with my family, but instead, I chose to forgive them." She added sincerely, "I'm sorry, I know I'm intruding . . but I _do_ know some of what you are going through. What you've been through."

The younger woman sighed and closed her eyes. She was really quite knackered. As Miss Bainbridge rose to leave, Ginny remembered something she had intended to ask earlier. "Olive, can you tell me, is that older Healer still on staff here? When I was here after – you know, what happened last spring. She helped the Aurors conduct their questioning by unlocking the Confundus Charm I was under."

Olive looked perplexed. "An older woman? On the night shift? Who was it?" she asked.

Ginny tried to describe her. "You couldn't forget her; she was had these icy, piercing blue eyes and short, gray hair. She was so very kind . . and I just wanted to thank her. She was simply marvelous."

The Healer furrowed her brows in concentration. "This was last spring, you say? As in – 2005?" When Ginny nodded, the woman replied, "Well, that's odd."

"What is?"

After a moment's hesitation, she said, "Well, that sounds like Madam Mendlebright, but . . well, she hasn't been here for over two years. She retired ages ago – I heard she moved to the southern coast to live with her nephew. She helps him run his farm."

"That's all right," Ginny shrugged. "It must have been somebody else; maybe the Aurors brought her in with them." As she settled in to go to back to sleep, she murmured, "Thank you, Olive. Good night." The woman exited quietly with the child, letting the door fall shut with a soft thud.

Somewhere quite far from Saint Mungo's, a secret and highly illegal meeting was taking place. On bended knee, Lucius reported the birth of the new Malfoy heir. "This one," he announced confidently to his master in a low voice, "will serve without question. My Lord, I offer you my son; I give him freely, willingly. Please accept this gift, and know that I have always been loyal to you."

He continued humbly, "Master, I beg you to forgive my earlier errors in judgment. I promise to be more prudent in raising him; I will not allow what happened before to occur again." He looked up as much as he dared. "And I assure you, there will be more . . . many more."

"Narcissa – she is willing to bear more sons? I thought she had—" the Dark Lord sneered, "_finished_ with all of that."

Lucius ground his teeth, saying, "No, my Lord, she is not willing. But she won't be a problem for very much longer, and everything will be quite legitimate."

He bowed even lower as he waited patiently for his master's response. Eventually, the Dark Mark on his left forearm glowed once more. He felt it burn; its sting revived him.

An almost inhuman voice hissed, "You have done well, Lucius. Welcome back."

End of Chapter

Notes: So now we're starting to see where this is heading. I hope you still like it; please review and let me know.

By the way, does anyone know where I got the surname 'Mendlebright' from? For anyone who reviews and provides the correct answer, I'll add a brief "kudos" with your name at the top of the Chapter 3, **plus** I'll e-mail you a cookie from it! :-D


	4. Chapter 3

Author Notes: I promise, I will not abandon this fic. Updates may be slow, but you will get them. Thank you for the beta read, fyrechild, and thanks to those who have reviewed.

From last chapter, I got the name 'Mendlebright' (the elderly Healer) from the Andy Griffith reruns on TV Land. (My husband is addicted to Andy Griffith shows as badly as I am to fanfic!) In one of the episodes, Mrs. Mendlebright was Barney Fife's frail, white-haired landlady. I've always loved the name, and it just seemed to fit. I really didn't think Andy would mind. :-)

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 3**_

Once it was determined that Ginny and her baby were indeed in perfect health, they left Saint Mungo's. She was thrilled to be back home, where she was at the center of a flurry of attention. This gave her little time to brood over how Lucas's father was not here to watch him grow, not to mention how much Rhiannon, who dove into her role of big sister enthusiastically, was changing almost daily.

At first, she was a perfect little helper to her mother. She even put on a brave face, explaining to the baby that he couldn't see Daddy for a while, maybe never. But she soon grew tired of all that – it was dull. While she still helped with his care, she eventually took to bossing him around, even though he was just a few days old and had no idea what she meant. It reminded Ginny of her old school friend and housemate, whom she had heard one of her brothers had recently begun dating. Which one, she didn't know, nor did she care. She pushed all that aside; they were out of her life for good.

As was the custom in the Malfoy family, the grandparents threw an extravagant arrival party soon after the birth. Naturally, the Weasleys were most certainly not invited, nor were any of Ginny's old friends welcome. Her mother-in-law was too ill to come down to see the guests, so the young mother also filled the role of hostess, as if she were Lady of the manor. She pretended to be comfortable in the part, and she seemed to glow with confidence. But if people only knew how overwhelmingly nervous she really felt, they would have been quite surprised. Lucius seemed to understand; at one point during the evening, he put his arm around her and gave her a reassuring smile. Somehow, that simple gesture helped put her nerves at ease, and she relaxed.

Lavish presents for the newborn were brought by well-wishers and deposited in the front parlor. The two house-elves in that room were kept busy for a long while, opening and cataloguing the gifts. They annotated who each item was from so that the young Mrs. Malfoy could write and send appropriate 'thank-you' notes by the end of next week. The greatest burden would be on the owls; the Malfoy estate housed several of the most elegant and sturdy ones in all of Great Britain, so the task could be completed within a respectable amount of time.

The dinner was sumptuous and first-rate. As the night drew on, the 50-piece orchestra that had been hired as the evening's entertainment played several popular melodies. Following dinner, dancing and merrymaking ensued. The orchestra began taking requests, as the guests relaxed, feeling the influence of the various liquors their hosts had provided in abundance.

But not everyone chose to dance; some of the younger men, most of whom had been Draco's mates at school, were involved in an intense discussion about muggles and whether or not they could be trusted in this new age of 'understanding and enlightenment' being fostered by the new Minister of Magic. Marcus Flint, Adrian Pucey, and others were engaged in a lively debate about modern muggle technology versus good old-fashioned wizarding.

Ginny was in the midst of this group. She listened interestedly, having her own opinion about muggles and those who found them oddly fascinating, but contributed nothing to their debate. Other young witches were also present, including Millicent Flint. She stood next to her husband Marcus, who had become a leading authority on muggle criminal behavior and had much to say on the topic.

Mrs. Flint looked around the room and sighed. She and Pansy Parkinson had long since grown bored with the conversation; it was apparent that the women were not expected to join in. Instead, they were there to fill a more traditional role: to remain quiet, look good next to their significant others, and make other wizards wish they could sleep with them.

The two long-time girlfriends finally sauntered away from the group. Millicent swayed her hips seductively, taking more than one pair of eyes away from the conversation. She smirked to herself when the debate dwindled momentarily; the young wizards were obviously distracted by her, which pleased her immensely. When Marcus _ruined_ her moment by bringing up some of the more recent threats to world peace caused by muggles, she mourned the loss of attention.

Millicent sipped her glass of wine as she wandered toward the baby's bassinet, Pansy in tow. The two started out admiring the tiny child, but the conversation soon turned ugly as it turned to gossip about him and his mother.

"I don't know, Pans; he sure seems . . . _scrawny_ to me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, even if she conceived the baby the day before he died – which wasn't exactly possible, since Draco was on the continent – she must have carried him for days, if not weeks, past a plausible due date. Yet he looks like he might be slightly . . . _premature_."

Alarmed at the implication, Pansy gasped, "You don't think—"

"Oh, no, of course not. He looks so much like Draco, it's uncanny, so surely he's the father. But I _did_ hear . . . oh, no, it's too, too dreadful to even think it—" She raised a palm to her face.

"What?"

Millicent breathed, "I heard she actually went to see . ." She paused and bit her lip. "A _muggle_ physician." Pansy gasped in reply. "Oh, yes. And they can, you know, fix certain – _things_."

"What sort of things?" Had Pansy been in a chair, she would have been on the edge of it, thirsty for more.

"Well," she whispered, "there is something called 'artificial insemination'. Say, for instance, Ginny anticipated or maybe foresaw an early death for him. They could have frozen some of his seed, injected it into her, and that way, even after he _died_ – she could still have his child."

"Really?!" Pansy had never heard of such a thing. "And muggles say _wizards_ are scary and untrustworthy!"

"It's quite true. But there's something even more distressing." Her voice fell to a low murmur. "Marcus tells me that muggles are dabbling into something even more sinister; they call it 'cloning'."

"What the devil is _that_?" It certainly sounded sinister, even if Pansy had no clue what it was. She was dying to find out.

Millicent made her best attempt to describe what she knew of the cloning process; unfortunately, not all of it was entirely correct. She told Pansy that muggles could take a woman who was already pregnant, replace part of her fertilized egg with part of another man – "In this case, Draco" – and the baby would be an _exact copy_ of that person. Pansy almost choked on the punch she was swallowing, and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

She hissed excitedly, one hand on her throat, "So you're saying – it's _possible_ that this may not be Draco's child at all, but by 'replacing' the . . the . . . what did you call it?"

"The cell's nucleus," Millicent said confidently, feigning intelligence. "It contains the person's genetic code; what they look like, their height, hair and eye color. _Everything._"

"So even if it wasn't his – it would look like him anyway?" Her friend nodded; Pansy's mouth dropped open as she gasped.

Mrs. Flint squinted her eyes to add a dramatic effect. "Exactly like him. No matter who the father really was."

"That's – that's just _frightening_, Millie!" Setting her punch glass down steadily, she inhaled sharply and asked, "Do you think it really is Potter's, and she set out to make sure it didn't look like him? So people wouldn't treat him differently or shun him?"

"I don't know. But cloning sure scared the hell out of _me_ when I heard that it was even possible." She patted her friend's hand, and then narrowing her eyes at her, she whispered, "Shhhh, here she comes now. Not a word to _anyone_. Promise?"

Pansy nodded quickly and picked up her glass in an attempt to appear as casual as possible. "Ginny, darling. He's an _angel_; a perfect, living legacy to his father. You must be so proud." She kissed the young mother on both cheeks. A ghost butler drifted by, holding out a large silver tray laden with glasses of champagne. Pansy set her punch glass down and took two replacements, both apparently for herself, causing Millicent to snort at her rudeness and inability to be nonchalant.

"Yes, Ginny, he's just the image of Draco. Congratulations – you're so lucky. His name is Lucas, right?"

"Lucas Draco Malfoy. That's right," Ginny nodded. She closed her eyes and leaned up against the wall. "Hate to break up the party, but if I don't go nurse the little guy soon, everyone will know that I need to. You know, Mill – sometimes it just sort of . . comes out whether you want it to or not, and usually, at the most inappropriate times."

Pansy didn't have a clue what Ginny was talking about, having had no children herself. But Mrs. Flint, mother of three boisterous children, knew exactly what her concern was. "Of course, Ginny. Take your time. I'll tell Lucius you've gone."

"Thank you, Millie. You're a love." And with that, Ginny took Lucas in her arms and carried him to the nearest private room to answer nature's call.

When her breasts were emptied and her baby's tummy was full, Ginny sighed to herself, holding little Lucas tenderly in her arms as she sang him to sleep. She cooed as she caressed his tender face, fingered his feather-soft hair of nearly pure white, and then laid him out on the sofa next to her. Watching him sleep, his purity and innocence touched her deep inside. She relaxed into a smile as she rebuttoned the front of her robes, adjusting them to prepare herself to return to the waiting guests.

She started to call a house-elf for assistance, but as the first syllable came out, she thought better of it. Just resting, enjoying her son, taking it all in, was so calming. In the darkened study, she thought that she too, could easily doze off. She leaned back and closed her eyes as she kept one hand on her baby.

Ginny was startled awake by a loud thump, followed by an obscene word. The unexpected noise caused Lucas to stir but not wake, while his mother nearly jumped out of her skin. "Who's there?" she whispered anxiously into the dim, raising her hand to her throat. Seeing a long, pale ponytail, she asked, "Lucius, is that you?"

After a brief silence, the man she called father-in-law responded quietly, "Yes, dear, it is. Just coming to check on you two. Are you and the little boy about finished, or am I interrupting?"

She sighed her relief, saying, "No, we're done." She called for the house-elf, "Shilla!" then picked up the resting child to pass to her for assistance. Shilla knew exactly what was expected, and she left to lay the little one down for the evening.

Then the young witch turned to Lucius and said appreciatively, "Thanks for giving us some privacy."

"Not at all," he replied. "It's the least I can do."

In a complete change of subject, Ginny inquired, "How's Cissy? Is she feeling any better?"

He winced slightly, confessing, "No, I'm afraid not. Her condition seems to worsen as time goes on. The Healers are utterly baffled, especially by the most recent development."

"Development? What development?"

Sighing heavily, he sank into a nearby chair and hung his head. "They fear that her cold may be turning into full-blown pneumonia." Looking at her with tears in his piercingly blue eyes, he whispered, "I don't know what I'd do if I lost her, Ginevra. She's all I have in the world."

Then two consecutive events occurred that, a mere five years ago, she would have deemed as absolute miracles: Lucius Malfoy cried, and Ginny felt pity for him.

"She isn't – she isn't going to _leave_ us," Ginny insisted encouragingly. She sniffed as her tears too threatened to spill onto her face and ruin her perfectly-done makeup.

Hiding his face in his hands, he felt a sudden sense of contrition, a need to make amends with this girl, the woman who had borne him his only living heirs. "Ginevera – I . . I must – apologize," he rasped, "to you. I have been so ashamed for so long, I can't say how wrong I was."

"What do you mean, Lucius? You have nothing to apologize for. I told you when you returned home that _everything_ had been forgiven. I forgave you for being there when my brother Percy died. I know it wasn't your fault; it was an accident. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, as was he. I accept that." She said stoically, "And I've moved on. You should, too."

But that did not appease him or ease his quiet sobbing. "No, this transgression is older than that – much, _much_ older. Please, let me have my say. I need this . . . _need_ this to cleanse myself. Just—" he gasped again, "Listen. Please."

Intrigued, she looked at him curiously. "All right," she said with a nod. "What is it?"

Taking a deep breath, he began his confessional. "When you were first going to Hogwarts, I'm sure you recall our unfortunate meeting in Flourish and Blotts. The day when you and my son first exchanged . . words. And I foolishly dropped something in your cauldron, something I knew to be – _incredibly_ dangerous. Yet I did it. And I—"

He paused to collect himself but couldn't seem to stop his tears from falling. If he were to go on, Ginny felt he would soon be blubbering incoherently. She reached up and stroked his cheek tenderly then said, "It's all right, Lucius. I know you didn't mean to hurt _me_ specifically, that I was not your target – you were only doing what you felt you had to. And **I** know – his power to control is immense. You did what you misguidedly believed was the . . the _solution_ to all the problems in the Wizarding World. And looking back on all the troubles muggles and their kind have caused the world . . "

She hesitated while gathering her thoughts. "I'm not so sure that Salazar Slytherin wasn't altogether _wrong_ about muggles – in some very small way. Although I do believe adamantly that what you did, and what it enabled Tom Riddle to do to a small, defenseless girl, was a very wrong way to go about it," she explained.

She took in the disheveled, once powerful man before her and smiled tenderly. "Lucius, I've forgiven you completely. I will never lord this over you, nor remind you of it. It truly is forgotten. All that remains is for you to forgive _yourself._"

His mind raced; who was this young woman before him? This was no woman – clearly, she was either an angel or a goddess. Trying to contain his joy at what he was hearing, he kissed her hand with gentility. "Ginevra, you have a heart of pure gold. I can't tell you how happy it makes me to hear you say those words." He leaned in carefully and gave her a chaste peck on the cheek, prudently keeping his distance.

She patted him on the shoulder then gently reminded him, "We'd best go out and tend to our guests. We wouldn't want to make them think simply awful things about us – or worse, cause any idle _gossip,_ now would we?" She wiggled her eyebrows and gave him the sexiest smirk he had ever seen. Then she was gone.

Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Lucius closed his eyes to remember her softness then licked his lips to capture the taste her skin had left on them. The rest of his body, which had imagined far beyond the innocent kiss he had placed on her youthful face, was on fire as he literally ached for her.

"No, my dear. We musn't be the cause of _idle_ hearsay, or become the victims of any spiteful gossipers," he murmured softly into the silence. "Far be it from me to disappoint them, when simply _indulging_ them would be so much more pleasurable."

Securing the door with a Locking Charm, he reached to touch himself. Then he hissed with a depraved leer, _"No, gossip shouldn't be a problem – considering it won't be idle 'hearsay' for very long."_

End of Chapter

Notes: So is Lucius wicked enough for you now?

Regarding Millicent's explanation of cloning, she is not exactly correct in her assumption of how it works. But since most pureblood wizards do not understand muggles or their ways, this was what she understood. Wrong, yes, but it does make the gossip far more interesting. ;-)

Thanks for reading. Please leave a review!


	5. Chapter 4

Author Notes: Finally, a new chapter! If it's any consolation, this one is the longest so far and has a few new developments. (Sorry, but this is a plot that can't be rushed.) And for those of you who _love_ Naughty!Lucius . . well, let's just say you won't be disappointed. ;-)

Hope you are still enjoying this. Thanks again, Illana, for beta-reading it. And thank you all for reading; a review would be appreciated.

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 4**_

On an unseasonably warm afternoon the following March, Ginny sat at her mother-in-law's bedside, watching her rest. The once-vibrant woman now lay in a comfortable bed at Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Her breathing rattled as her pneumonia seemed to worsen by the day. The rumblings in the poor woman's chest sometimes made Ginny think of a Dementor; on the occasions when she herself would doze off, the sound of it would often startle her awake.

The dull afternoon wore on. Growing tired of just sitting while Narcissa slept on for what seemed like hours, Ginny picked up her handbag and her well-worn copy of last Sunday's Daily Prophet and headed out for the hospital's combination cafeteria/tea room. She moved toward the front of the line of visitors, Healers, and hospital staff who were also waiting for their afternoon tea; she gazed listlessly at the pastries and sweets that peered back at her from under the unbreakable glass, tempting her to try just one . . little . . . _scrumptious_ bite.

_No, I really shouldn't, _she scolded herself, _or I'll end up with my mother's hips._ It was a fate she had battled for years.

Giving herself a mental pat on the back for denying one of her favorite guilty pleasures, the cafeteria's delicious chocolate mousse, she settled for a simple cup of Earl Grey with a thin slice of orange floating at the top. She showed it to the clerk, paid the requested eight sickles, and then went in search of a table, preferably somewhere out of the spotlight.

She sat in silent reflection, nursing her tea, wondering what her children were up to with their nanny this afternoon. She briefly thought of George and Katie's youngsters and how Rhiannon would have dearly loved to go there today, and Lucas – but it was not to be. _Not while I live and breathe,_ she told herself sternly.

"Ginny?" a passerby said. "My god, is that – Ginny Weasley, it is you!"

"Neville," she replied in a friendly tone. "What a pleasant surprise."

"W-well, how in the world are you?" her old housemate asked enthusiastically. "I guess it's no longer Weasley . . but _Malfoy_, isn't it?" On seeing her face fall, he remembered too late that Luna had reminded him only yesterday not to bring that up, if he ran into Ginny. He kicked himself mentally.

"Sorry," he mumbled, clumsy and out of place as he ever was. "Luna told me not to mention it, and now I went and forgot. I'm so sorry, Ginny." He paused then added, "Your husband turned out to be a rather decent chap, didn't he? Not what we expected in our early years at Hogwarts, eh?"

"Yes, he surprised us all – what, with testifying against his Aunt Bellatrix to extend her sentence to help protect his mother and her assets. And he was none to kind to his father, either."

Neville agreed readily, "That's true. He put a few nasty hexes on the old boy during the final battle; Lucius finally got out of prison in my seventh year, only to turn around and go right back. Serves him right, the cad!"

She smiled, saying, "But he's not that way anymore, Neville. You wouldn't believe it if you saw him. He's the epitome of a perfect grandfather to Rhiannon, and he simply dotes on little Lucas. Since their father can't be here – well, I'm so grateful that they have a wonderful, positive male role model."

Neville's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Ginny assured him, "I know what you're thinking. But sometimes, it's amazing just how much he truly has changed."

"If you say so, Ginny," he mumbled. "But he can never replace their _real_ fath—"

Seeing the tears in her eyes, he could tell this wasn't helping. He seemed to be digging himself into an even deeper hole than if he'd just said a simple 'I'm sorry' and went on.

She sniffed. "It's all right, Neville – _really,_" she assured him, patting his hand gently. A brief spell of nervous quiet followed, during which time, Ginny stared into her half-empty cup, and Neville found his fingernails immensely fascinating.

Then she asked him, "I expect you're here to see your parents? How are they doing?"

"Oh, you know . . Mum, she comes and goes. Seems like somedays, she know who I am. I live for those days. But Dad, he'll – he'll never come back," he murmured.

The air between the two old friends had become even more tense, so he wisely changed the subject. "What are you doing here, anyway? Did you become an aunt again?"

She laughed mirthlessly. "No, nothing like that. Not that I know of, anyway. My mother-in-law – Narcissa – she's quite ill. The Healers can't seem to do anything for her." She paused then looked at him seriously. "I fear the worst, Neville. And I don't know if you were aware, but I'm not speaking to _my_ family . . "

"Not speaking to them? Why?"

"Oh," she sighed, "that whole 'Harry-Potter-the-Noble-Hero-Would-_Never_' business. They don't believe me, and I-I can't forgive them. I know, it sounds horrible, but . . well, anyway – it's all right. I've got Narcissa and Lucius. And my children." She added in a whisper, _"Thank God for them."_

"That . . that's _awful_, Ginny." Neville swallowed and looked down nervously, wanting desperately to change the subject. This reunion hadn't gone as well as he had hoped it would.

"Say," he asked, "have you got any photos of your little ones?" She showed him a copy of their most recent snapshot; Rhiannon smiled precociously as she alternated between waving madly and trying to keep her little brother, who was propped up on a cozy chair, from falling over.

Looking down at the table, Neville noticed her newspaper. As if he'd suddenly remembered something, his face brightened, and he remarked excitedly, "Oh, you've got this Sunday's Prophet! Then I imagine you've heard the news."

"What news?"

"Of my engagement to Luna."

"Congratulations, Neville!" she said, and she meant it.

"That's why I was hoping, somehow, that I might get a chance to run into you someday. Luna wants you to be her matron of honor . . or at least, a bridesmaid. Would you? Would you, please?"

She stuttered, "I-I'll have to think about it. When's the wedding?"

"In the fall. November 18th. My mum's birthday."

Coming to her senses, she dropped all hesitation. _What was I thinking?_ This was Luna and Neville, for Merlin's sake! "Oh, Neville – it sounds splendid. Of course, I will. Tell Luna she can count on me, and if she needs any help with the preparations, I would be more than happy to lend a hand."

Ginny figured that with neither of them having a mother around to help, she was probably the closest thing they could ever hope to find. After all, she'd helped all of her sisters-in-law with their wedding plans, and she and Luna had been practically sisters back in school. She'd be a fool not to offer.

"Brilliant!" Neville beamed. "Hey, listen – I gotta run now. I'm meeting Luna for an early dinner. Hermione's coming, too; it's a double date. I think she's bringing one of your brothers, but I don't know which one. How many of them are still unattached?"

"I really don't know, and honestly – I don't care," she snipped. "I'm sorry, Neville, but that's the way between us now."

"Oh. Okay," he said glumly. "Well, goodbye, Ginny. Luna will be in touch. And thanks again."

* * *

Shortly after Neville left at her the cafeteria, Ginny returned to Narcissa's room to find her still fast asleep. _Good, at least she's resting peacefully._

She checked the wall clock. _It's 3:00. Almost time. _

Brian Gilpin, the Healer in charge of Mrs. Malfoy's case, was due to make his daily visit to update any family members who might wish to speak with him. Just five years older than Ginny, he was very young for a fully-certified Healer; in fact, he had been one of Percy's classmates and, like him, was extremely serious and bookish. Had Brian been sorted into Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw, the two wizards might have become lifelong friends.

Once she found out that he and her Ministry official brother had been chums in their early school years, she struck up a natural friendship with Brian. She somehow found their relationship comfortable – probably due to the familial ties that she thought she had severed, though evidently, not entirely.

Over the past several days, Brian had come to realize something about Narcissa's disease: It was not only defeating her but utterly baffling him as well. He had briefly considered transferring her to another hospital, one more equipped to deal with mysteriously stubborn illnesses such as the one she seemed to have contracted, but he had yet to do actually recommend it. Time dragged on as she struggled to get well.

Ginny withdrew her yarn and two pairs of knitting needles. Raising her wand, she resumed her most recent project of making new sweaters for her children. The little woolen garments would be two sizes too large, so they would fit them perfectly at Christmas time.

Knitting sweaters for her children was practically the only Weasley tradition she had carried on. As she had told Neville, she remained bitterly estranged from her family; nearly three months had passed since the birth of her son, and they had yet to lay eyes on him.

If she only knew how it broke Molly's heart, maybe she would consider reconciling. But the young mother was not ready to cross that bridge. She sighed heavily.

When Brian knocked gently on the door to Narcissa's room, Ginny looked up and met his eyes, silently indicating that he was permitted to enter.

"Good afternoon, Ginny," Brian greeted her warmly.

"Hello, Brian," was her soft, sleepy reply. The young man's heart fluttered when she said his name. He found her quite attractive, especially when she laughed, which he felt she didn't do nearly often enough.

"Well? What is your expert opinion?" she asked, eyeing him closely. "Is she indeed getting worse, or am I simply _imagining_ things?" Glued to the spot by her intense stare, he very nearly melted. Still, he fought down the urge to just grab her and snog her senseless.

After all, he was nothing if not a consummate professional.

Since early in her sixth year at Hogwarts, Ginny had a fiery spirit that men seemed to find irresistible. Although not a ravishing beauty, she was certainly easy on the eyes, and with her raw nerve, she had no trouble attracting suitors. Some had wanted to tame her, like Harry Potter; others just wanted to see if she was as good in bed as they had imagined in their lust-filled, teenage dreams. The rumors at school had run rampant . . . but only Draco knew, and he wasn't telling.

Yes, Brian was the latest in a long line of male admirers. She could tell he was interested in her; men were always so patently obvious. She secretly suspected that this was a good part of the reason he had never insisted on transferring her mother-in-law out of his jurisdiction.

But sadly, she returned no such feelings for him or any man.

Still dwelling on what might have been with her long-dead husband, Ginny had been unable to move on. Insurmountable tragedy weighed heavily on her lonely, troubled heart: The bizarre circumstances that surrounded Draco's death, the bittersweet birth of his only son, one he would never know, and the heartache she felt as her dear, dear mother-in-law came closer to death's doorstep by the hour. Some days, it was all she could do to get out of bed.

The click-clacking of her knitting needles had stopped, her half-finished work hanging suspended in mid-air. Brian cleared his throat nervously, calling her out of her daze and back to the present. "Ginny?" he began. "I believe . . professionally speaking, of course . . . that your mother-in-law may—"

He faltered. Exhaling nervously, he spoke bluntly. There was nothing else for it.

"I'll be frank, Ginny. She may well be beyond our aid. The illness does not respond to any treatment – and yes, she does seem to grow worse. I am very sorry; I wish had better news."

Her needles and the little half-knitted sweaters fell to the floor, landing on a pile of unused yarn.

Then he said what he had never had to say to a family member or patient before, and he definitely didn't want to say it now. But he couldn't mislead her; he just couldn't do that to Ginny. He spoke slowly, choosing each word carefully. "I think it might be best if she were to just . . go home, where she can be made as comfortable as possible, while she . . . waits."

Ginny's eyes spilled over with tears, and Brian's heart went out to her. He longed to take her hands into his, tenderly touch her face and hair – anything to help ease her sorrow. He said with compassion, "I'm very sorry, Ginny. If there's anything I can do, please . . . owl me anytime, day or night." She nodded weakly, attempting to collect herself.

Backing away slightly, he added, "If her husband agrees, I'll arrange for her release in the morning. See you tomorrow, Ginny."

* * *

In his own private bedroom back at the manor, Lucius lay alone, flat on his back and fully exposed, his grievously ill wife the furthest thing from his mind. 

He inhaled deeply as he looked down the length of his hardened body. He ran his fingers through the pale hair on his chest, stopping briefly to caress one of his nipples. As if moving of its own accord, his hand slid across his taut stomach and down to his groin; he watched his erection as it grew in response to his touch. To enhance the intensity, he closed his eyes and reminisced over a few of his favorite, most pleasurable memories.

_Just a few . . featherlight strokes_, he promised himself, _the same way **she** touched me._

Soon, he was boiling up inside, his climax approaching fast. Yet he somehow managed to keep from it, thus ensuring he would be able to keep his next appointment.

But she was late. _Again._

Frustrated, his body ached for the release it had been promised. He hissed impatiently, "Where is that blasted girl? I told her 3:00, on the dot!"

A soft knock on the door answered his question.

"Monsieur?" came a timid whisper. Another gentle knock. "Monsieur Malfoy? It is I, Nicolette; I have come."

_Not yet, but you will,_ he thought with a smirk.

He sat up and covered his lower body with the deep green satin sheet, pushing his hair back and over his shoulders. "Enter," he commanded.

The young French woman, a 19-year-old pureblood who was born a squib, opened the door just wide enough to admit her thin frame, and then closed it swiftly behind her.

"Did you bring her brush?" he asked her in a clipped tone.

"Oui, Monsieur. I 'ave it 'ere." She held up an exquisite silver brush with medium-soft bristles that were laced with flame-red hair. He involuntarily licked his lips as something deep within his body stirred.

"Now, you're sure this one is her _personal_ brush. She doesn't use it on the children?"

"Non, Monsieur; she keeps zose in a separate cabinet. Zey are softer. Zis one lies on zee vanity, zee vun viss zee large mirror."

"Good. Pull out two or three of the longer strands and bring them here," he said eagerly. "But—" he paused. "First things first, my dear."

Withdrawing his wand from the nightstand, he pointed it toward her throat and whispered huskily, _"Voca: Ginevra."_

In a voice and accent that were completely foreign to her, she purred, "Are you ready for the potion's last ingredient now, Lucius?" Watching him complete the mixture with fascination, she knew exactly what her master desired.

He filled a glass with the thick potion then held it out for her. She took the proffered glass, drinking it obediently. The taste was disgusting, and it tended to make her feel a bit queer. But the way she saw it, becoming someone else for an hour wasn't so bad; she even enjoyed herself at times.

_At least Monsieur Malfoy isn't fat or ugly, nor does he stink like a pig, zee way my last master did – who included oral sex under zee category, "Ozzer duties as assigned." _

Lucius looked at her, his silvery eyes smoldering. He slowly removed her maid's apron and her black dress; no longer hanging on her slight frame, the garment now hugged her newly-added voluptuous curves. And for the next sixty minutes, she fulfilled his fantasy.

* * *

Ginny left the hospital a short while after Brian's pronouncement. On entering the front door of the manor, she could find no sign of her servant Nicolette. _That lazy girl! She's always missing when I need her!_ _Lucius really should sack her. _

So instead she called for Toddy the house elf. The eager little chap appeared and gathered Ginny's things to take them upstairs to her room. Once there, she planned to rest for a bit then take a hot bath; afterward, she would check up on her children and then dress for dinner.

As their evening meal was ending and the desserts were being served, Ginny quietly told Lucius what the Healer had said about Narcissa's condition. He looked so sad that she thought he would cry; when he broke down in quiet sobs, she found that she couldn't keep from crying herself.

_Damn – I thought I was ready for this, _she thought.

Rhiannon looked at them, slightly bewildered at why two grown-ups would cry like little babies. Her mother took her tiny hands in hers and explained as best she could.

"Rhiannon, sweetheart . . . Do you remember when I told you that Daddy wasn't coming back because he had gone on to the next great adventure?" she asked, quoting the Headmaster of her old school. Her young daughter nodded, her eyes glowing in the soft torchlight. "Well, darling, it . . it looks like your Grandma . . . may be joining him, very soon. And she – she won't be back, either," she whispered as another tear trickled down her freckled cheek.

"No, I don't want her to go. Grandma can't _leave_ me," Rhiannon insisted. "She promised to take me to the beach in June. And how can she do that when she's gone off with Daddy?" Her fervent appeal touched Ginny's heart, and she tried to put on a brave face for her daughter.

"But, princess, it's not up to us when we are taken from this Earth. Because believe me, I don't want her to leave either. I love Grandma, as if she were my own mother."

"You mean she's not?" the girl quizzed, as if the thought had never occurred to her. "Then who _is_ your mummy? Where does she live?"

Ginny sighed and looked over at Lucius. He knew that this was not going to be easy for her. He patted her hand then gave it a tight, reassuring squeeze; she returned it, grateful for his support.

He took a different approach to the task of putting all of this into terms a five-year-old child would understand.

"Rhiannon, my dear, your Grandma and I, we are – _were_ – your daddy's mummy and daddy. He sat in that very same chair and looked at me the way you're looking at me now. He was happy here. When he was a little boy, he had servants, ponies, and all sorts of fun, just like you."

"My daddy was a little boy?" she giggled. "That would have been funny!"

"Yes, he was. Now, your mummy's parents live somewhere far away. Their house is very small, and they have no house-elves or nannies to play with or ponies to ride. Mummy knew you wouldn't like it there. That's why you live here, with us."

The youngster looked at Ginny and stated resolutely, "I still want to go to the beach." Then she was struck by inspiration. "Can _your_ mummy take me instead?" she asked excitedly.

"I-I don't think that would be a good idea, angel," Ginny replied as she looked into her glass of wine.

"But why not? Isn't she nice?"

"Yes, she is – but it just wouldn't, that's all." That was not good enough for the girl, who started to pout.

Once again, her grandpa explained patiently. "Rhiannon, do you remember your friends Daniel and Luther Crabbe?" She nodded, a sad frown fixed firmly on her face. "Their mummy and daddy don't live together anymore. They got 'un-married' by something called a divorce. Do you understand?"

The girl nodded slowly, and he went on. "Well, in a way, your mother has separated from _her_ parents – your other grandparents – and that's rather like a divorce. They never see each other, and they rarely talk to each other. Your mother still . . _loves_ her mummy and daddy, but the three of them disagree too much to be friends. Does that make sense, poppet?"

She rubbed her eyes and whispered, "I think so." Turning to Ginny, she pleaded earnestly, "Mummy, will _you_ take me to the beach? Just you, and no nannies?"

"Of course, darling; if that's what you want."

The girl smiled and looked back down at her plate. She finished her desert – only she found that, for some odd reason, it didn't taste quite as rich and sweet as it had before.

End of Chapter

Notes: Hmmm… the plot thickens. (Poor Narcissa; I've always got her laid up in hospital somewhere, don't I? Believe me, it's just a coincidence.)

Please review; thank you!


	6. Chapter 5

Joy!

Rapture!

New –

Chapter!

Thank you, Fyrechild, for the beta read, and to my readers and reviewers. You make this all the more enjoyable.

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 5**_

"Goodbye, Verla. And thank you so much for coming. Say hello to Karl for me."

"It was the least I could do, Lucius. After all, Narcissa was always such a dear friend, ever since Hogwarts. She will be missed," the sickly pale witch said as they kissed one another on each cheek. Choking back a sob, she walked out into the misty April afternoon.

Exhaling heavily, the owner of Malfoy Manor shut the front door firmly as the last guest finally left. The large, impenetrable door had sheltered and protected the occupants within for generations immemorial. Now it kept them safe from the prying eyes, gaping mouths, and wagging tongues of the rest of the world, allowing the family to grieve its loss in private.

Still, the outside world mourned with the Malfoys as the ancient pureblood family buried yet another of its beloved members far before her time. It was tragic, as they had lost so much already. Yet people would gossip, and everyone wanted to know: Why had Narcissa Malfoy been taken from them so young? How would Lucius cope? Would he eventually remarry, have another family?

Bachelorettes and spinsters alike – not to mention, a few of their mothers – had vague whisperings.

'_He's not that old, you know.' _

'_Fairly easy on the eyes, and not a bad catch.'_

'_He's quite rich; one could do __far__ worse.' _

Wizards and witches alike couldn't refrain from prattling on about the poor young grandchildren or their mother, Draco's widow. The girl who was devoted to Cissy, and she seemed horribly distraught at the funeral. They observed how was lucky she was to have her father-in-law at her side and her children to help ease her sorrow.

In the days and weeks that followed Cissy's funeral, Ginny busied herself with planning the most extravagant wedding she could for her old school friends, Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom. Before she knew it, the big day was just six months away, which gave them precious little time to prepare.

And there was still so much to _do!_ The entire wedding party needed custom-fit robes made from specialty fabrics. There was the ordering of the flowers, which grew only in Singapore and had to be planted early in the summer months in order to be ready for a fall wedding – not to mention the hand-printing of over 500 invitations, done exclusively, exquisitely, and quite expensively, by Caligula Calligraphy. Ginny found the hustle-bustle to be an excellent way to occupy her mind.

On a warm, uncommonly windy Saturday in the middle of May, she and Neville's bride were seated together before a large glass table, sipping tea as they analyzed a number of fabric swatches in a variety of colors and hues.

"No, Luna – that will _never_ do," she gently chided her friend.

"But I like seafoam green. It's so soothing, and it would make the most lovely bridesmaid robes."

"Perhaps, but look at the weight of this material. It's far too heavy for anything so elegant. The robes simply wouldn't lie right," she insisted. "I'm sorry, but it's just not going to work."

Dejected but not dissuaded, Luna waved yet another swatch in front of Ginny's expert eye, hoping it would meet with her approval. "How about this periwinkle? It's pretty, isn't it?"

Her friend sighed and said with smile, "Of course, it is. It's lovely. However, I happen to look like crap in both periwinkle _and_ seafoam green."

Luna shrugged. She was never into fashion, colors, or fabric, and she was not nearly as knowledgeable in these areas as Ginny was. The redhead spoke authoritatively, and when she did, Molly's common sense approach to making clothes and Draco's sense of style were both patently obvious. The bride trusted her friend's judgment completely.

Still, she pressed on. Her large eyes glowed as they surveyed the seemingly endless array of fabric samples Madam Malkin's Robe Shop had sent over for their perusal.

"Ginny," she asked thoughtfully, as if it had just occurred to her, "What color _does_ look best on you? Because I want you to look smashing. I mean, a lot of future couples meet at weddings, don't they? Sort of puts them in the right spirit . . if you take my meaning. And if you look radiant – then what's to stop a nice-looking young wizard from taking notice of you?"

Ginny stared back at her, her mouth slightly agape. Luna smiled serenely as she took her friend's hand and squeezed it. "Ginny, I think it's time that . . you moved on. I know it's hard, but my father never did – and he regrets it now."

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She blinked owlishly at the girl who held her hand. Luna pleaded silently with her eyes that Ginny consider her suggestion.

"Coral. Deep coral."

"What?" Luna asked her.

"That's my best color – a deep coral. Everyone thinks so, even Draco. He said the right shade of it brings out these little flecks of gold in my eyes, and my skin just glows." Staring blankly into her tea cup, she thought of her own wedding and the events that followed in their room in Venice . . .

"_My beautiful fire goddess," her new husband sighed as he kissed her tenderly. "That looks so gorgeous on you. But it would look even better on the floor . . "_

_More kisses, a none-too-gentle love bite that stirred her blood, his tongue trailing down to her cleavage, his thumbs rubbing her nipples till they became as erect as he was._

"_Silly to spend so much on a beautiful garment that's practically see-through anyway, only to have it stay on for such a short a time." Then he sunk his face in between her breasts, lavishing the parts he could get to with kisses. He murmured, "You're perfect, and I love you so much."_

"_I love you, too, honey," she whispered as she lovingly stroked the top of his head._

_Soon, his fingers were busy trying to untie the dainty ribbons at the tops of her shoulder that held the deep coral camisole in place. The anticipation, as well as her thong knickers, was having a rather obvious effect on him, one he would never wish to hide from her again. Frustrated at not being able to undo the ribbons fast enough, he sat up and reached for his wand to loosen them._

_When he looked up, he saw out of the corner of his eye the very items that had exasperated him. They lay in a loose heap on the floor, Ginny twirling her own wand and shrugging her shoulders._

"_Guess you're not the only one who's anxious." She winked at him and slowly licked her lips._

_Between several wet, languid kisses, he growled, "Mmmm, you hot little thing, you. And you're mine, all mine. My darling, my wife."_

And so began seven glorious days and nights of lovemaking, experimenting, touching, tasting, giving and receiving pleasure the likes of which she had never known, and he had only guessed at. Not that he was _wholly_ without experience . . but being married – becoming _one –_ brought a deeper level of connection, a new intensity to their sex life, and they fell even more madly in love with each other.

Thinking back on that spectacular week, she still shuddered. The pleasure he had learned to give to her, their cries of release, the expressions of joy they'd both had on their innocent, young faces for the majority of those seven days, were incredible. The couple barely got out of bed; when they remembered to eat, they always ordered room service. It was all so romantic that, in retrospect, it almost seemed unreal.

It was no wonder that Ginny had been unable to move forward, when what they'd had had been so irreplaceable . . .

"Ginny?" Luna interrupted her thoughts, asking with concern, "Are you – all right?"

"Of course," she laughed nervously as she swiped a tear away from her eye, focusing her gaze on the sea of fabric swatches that lay on the table before her.

The bride fretted, "Your being so involved in planning my wedding isn't such a good idea, is it?"

Ginny gasped. "Oh, no – I'm fine. This has nothing to do with _that!_"

"I mean, it's just been so hard on you. I know our asking for your help couldn't have come at a worse time, what with your mother-in-law being so ill and then passing, and if you wanted to back out now, I wouldn't blame you."

As she swiped a sliver of a tear from her eye, Ginny insisted, "No, really, I'm quite enjoying myself. I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself, it's just that—"

Looking like she didn't believe a word of what her friend had just said, Luna told her, "But if you don't feel up to this, I completely understand."

Her friend laughed softly then protested, "Nonsense, I _want_ to do this. I thought – rather, I hoped – it would be therapeutic. You know, sort of . . healing, in a way."

"But is it?" Luna asked doubtfully.

Ginny bit her lip and furrowed her brow as she decided. "You know, in an _odd_ way, it - it rather is." Studying the fabrics once more, she asked Luna, "Did you find a shade you like?"

"Yes. This one's nice," Luna replied with a wistful smile, "and it will look so perfect in the photos next to my ivory-colored wedding dress."

Holding the swatch in her hand, the redhead passed her judgment. "Hmmm . . yes, smooth, silky texture, and a nice weight. This will do very well." Luna beamed.

Anxious to move on to the rest of the plans, Ginny annotated which fabrics they had chosen and the patterns for the robes. She did a Banishing charm to clear the table then announced, "Now, let's choose some invitations. _Accio,_ invitation samples book!"

The massive book floated slowly toward them. When it came within her reach, she grabbed onto it and gently laid it on the glass table before them. The book turned page after page of itself, offering them eight new samples every time. When either of the witches found one they liked, one of them would touch her wand to the page, and it would be added to a growing list of 'possibles'. They continued in silence for several moments.

Suddenly, Luna gave her friend a shy smile and whispered, "Ginny, can you keep a secret?"

"Sure. What is it?" she asked casually as she marked yet another of the gorgeous invitations available from Caligula's extensive library.

"_Neville and I are going to have a baby,"_ she hissed.

"Really?" her friend breathed, mildly shocked. "When – when did you find this out? And when's the happy event – before or after the wedding?"

Rather offended at the implication, Luna scoffed, "Well, after, of course. What do you take me for, anyway?"

Ginny, confused and mildly annoyed, wrinkled her nose then asked her an important question. "And _when_ will you be having this baby?"

"At the Spring Equinox in 2008. March 21st. And it's going to be a girl," she added assuredly.

"Just how would you know all that? Or do you plan on gestating for the next twenty-some months? You could probably give birth to a _giant_ by then!"

Luna tutted, "I'm not pregnant _yet_, silly! I'm still a – a virgin." When Ginny's eyes widened slightly, she whispered, _"Neville's very old-fashioned like that; he wants both of us to remain pure, until that night."_

Wondering how could Luna _predict_ – if that's what she was implying – an event that was to happen two years away from now, she asked, "And you know this . . _how?"_

"Easy. I've done all the important research and tests. My birthday is on August 1st, which is Lugnasadh. Everyone knows that's the day the god and goddess make love; she becomes pregnant and gives birth on Ostara, the Spring Equinox. And since women on my mother's side of the family always bear a daughter first—"

"Luna, you can't be serious. Those are just myths! No one believes those anymore."

"They worked for my mother," the girl insisted, never blushing or flinching. "And my grandmother. They've _always_ followed the Pagan calendar – it never fails. I can't believe you doubt it, Ginny. Weren't both of your children born at Yuletide?"

"Yes, but . . . what if you get pregnant before then? You know – by accident?"

"I won't. And there _are_ ways to prevent that."

Ginny looked at her quirky old friend and sighed. Patting her on the hand, she said, "Well, then I'm happy for the both of you. You'll make splendid parents."

Brian Gilpin had just had a lengthy, in-depth bedside chat with one of his elderly patients. The man always exhausted him, and he tended to be especially vocal on Fridays, as he knew he wouldn't see him for at least two days. The Healer exhaled heavily. It was 4:45 in the evening, and he was nearly finished with his rounds. Still, he smiled a tired smile to himself; the last weekend in May always meant glorious weather, perfect for his hard-earned weekend off.

_Just two more patients to go, _he sighed. He turned to move along to the next one when he noticed someone in the distance. It was a man with very distinguishable, very long, pale blond hair. He squinted his eyes to be sure then called out, his voice echoing down the cold, sterile corridor, "Hello, Mr. Malfoy? Is that you?"

Lucius turned his head slowly to see who was speaking to him. A slight smirk graced his thin lips as he caught sight of Brian Gilpin. _Ah, yes. The Healer in charge of Narcissa's case. _

_Perfect._

It had been nearly two months since his late wife's funeral, and the men had not seen one another since. The widower narrowed his silver-grey eyes as the younger man approached him.

"Good afternoon, sir. What brings you so far from home on such a lovely spring afternoon?"

Lucius sneered slightly and drawled, "Hello, Gilpin. I'm here to see about retrieving my late wife's files."

The Healer looked at him blankly, his mouth hanging open slightly as if he wasn't sure he'd heard him right. "Her – her _files,_ sir?"

"Yes. Well, copies of them, of course," the blond clarified. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "That isn't a problem, is it? I mean, she _was_ my wife, after all."

The younger man appeared to be hesitant. He cleared his throat then said, "Well, er – no, sir. Not at all. It's just that we don't often get such requests. And . . copying them will – take some time, Mr. Malfoy."

"Surely, you must have an Assistant Healer or an intern who would know a spell that would do the trick?"

He blushed a little at his error, as that thought had not crossed his mind, and offered, "Let me check. My office is this way."

The two wizards began walking down the hallway. They passed many doors; a few of them were slightly ajar, but many more were closed tight, shielding the residents within and hiding their various maladies and injuries from gawking onlookers. Eventually, they approached a door that was, oddly enough, standing wide open.

Lucius slowed his pace as the vaguely familiar patient inside caught his eye. He stopped and stared then quickly looked away, walking on by before the patient could return his gaze. When he slipped past the room, the door flew shut with a flourish. Its hollow _slam!_ startled Lucius back to the full awareness of walking with Gilpin, who was chattering on nervously.

_He must be uncomfortable with silence. It's an annoying habit, but it often proves useful._

They eventually rounded a corner and descended a set of stairs. As they did, the younger man continued to spout mindless drivel; Lucius speculated that he felt guilty about having lost _his_ wife. He groaned internally, yet managed to feign minimal politeness and turned his head to indicate a modicum of interest in what he was saying.

At times, the Healer seemed to bear a striking resemblance to Percy Weasley – another terminal bore and a stickler for the rules. The most annoying of Arthur's sons, the boy had worked directly under Barty Crouch and then later, for Fudge himself. Important positions for one so young and inexperienced, but he could never fully grasp the bigger picture. No, Percy Weasley could never see past the end of his nose; doing so would have been difficult, seeing how it always wedged so firmly up his boss's arse.

_And what did all that arse-kissing do for him anyway? _Lucius grumbled silently. _He was never willing to overlook minor infractions or violations, always going exactly by the book . . . _

_Then he sealed his fate by foolishly tagging along with those Aurors when they raided the LeStrange home – where I just happened to be having dinner with my in-laws. Really, was it __**my**__ fault he jumped directly in front of Rudolphos's wand when he aimed the killing curse at that pompous Mudblood Auror, Edmund Goodspeak? _

_Well, that Banishing Spell may have had __**something**__ to do with it – flinging him in front of Bella's husband like that. Most unfortunate. Percy always was a very slight man, never weighing more than 11 stones, even in his mid-twenties._

Gilpin suddenly stopped outside an office that had his name and title painted on the frosted glass. Indicating the door, he announced with a smile, "Here we are."

They entered and approached his receptionist's desk. _"Nadine Boorman"_ her brass nameplate read in a delicate script. The Healer requested that she make a copy of Mrs. Malfoy's file. The young lady, a dowdy-looking witch with horn-rimmed glasses, short brunette hair, and a mild acne problem, nodded quickly, seeing to the task right away. Lucius sensed from her reaction that she had a crush on her boss, although the object of her desire was oblivious to the fact.

The two men entered Gilpin's private office. Before Lucius could even sit down, the younger man said to him expectantly, "Well, what do you think?"

"About what?"

He stammered, "Well, sir – as I was saying in the stairwell – I was . . wondering if I might have a word with you about . . _her_."

Confused, Lucius asked with mild sarcasm, "Who? Your receptionist, the _lovely_ Miss Boorman?"

With a soft laugh, he corrected, "No, sir. Your daughter-in-law."

"Ginny? Whatever for?" he said, he tone icy.

"Well, sir, it's – it's . . well, I rather fancy her. She's quite charming, and I'd like to see if you knew whether she might be free to take dinner with me one evening this week?" When his guest only glared at him, he said nervously, "I mean no disrespect to your late son. But d-do you know if Ginny is currently seeing anyone?"

"No, not that I'm aware of," he replied guardedly. "As far as dinner this week – I'm afraid that's not possible. She's out of town. She took her daughter to the beach for a few days of much needed relaxation. Fulfilling a promise for Narcissa."

"Oh. I see. Well, perhaps when they return, then." A few moments of discomfiting silence followed. "I was going to send her an owl. But since she isn't at home, the journey to . . wherever she is would probably exhaust my poor bird."

Struck by inspiration, Brian suggested hopefully, "I wonder – Mr. Malfoy, would _you_ mind terribly – taking this letter for her, and just handing it to her when she gets back?"

Lucius slowly took the letter from the man's hand, which was shaking slightly. He smirked to himself and said kindly, "Not at all. I'd be happy to."

Gilpin broke into a relieved smile. "Thank you, sir. I'm most grateful."

Presently, the receptionist knocked timidly on the door to his private office. She opened it just a crack. "Mr. Gilpin, sir? I have the copies you requested for Mr. Malfoy."

"Thank you, Nadine." He took the sealed packet from her with a cordial smile; when his hand accidentally brushed against hers, she reddened slightly then looked down demurely.

_Poor, repulsive little girl – she's in love with the pompous bastard._

Nadine's boss swiftly handed him the packet. "Here you are, Mr. Malfoy. And thank you too, for that . . other—"

Never taking his eyes off the manila packet, he assured him, "Don't mention it, Gilpin. It's my pleasure." A faint smile graced his lips, and he bid the two hospital employees a very pleasant evening. Casually striding toward the lift, he hid a smirk. He left the building as quickly as possible, anxious to Apparate home as before either of them realized the young lady's error.

End of Chapter

Notes: Leaving you hanging has become sort of my trademark, hasn't it? :-) Sorry for the awful delay between chapters – the next one shouldn't be nearly so long.

More in a few weeks (as soon as I get my tax paperwork all done . . . ) !!


	7. Chapter 6

Author's Notes: Can you believe it? I finally got around to posting another chapter! Guess I just got fired up about finishing "Unbidden Desires" so I could press on; I hate having loose ends. Hopefully, now I can pick up the updating frequency on this deliberately-paced fic.

Fyrechild, thank you for the beta read, and thanks to those who have reviewed. I appreciate it!

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 6**_

Ginny relaxed in her tomato-red canvas folding chair, basking in the sun and watching her daughter make sand castles in the cool, moist sand. She smiled to herself, then once more cracked open the book that Dr. Winterbourne had recommended, "Learning to Live Again." She said it was written by a famous American muggle who helped other muggles solve their relationship problems and improve their lives. She seemed to set great store by him, as he had hosted a popular television show. Whatever _that_ meant.

Two paragraphs into the seventh page – that's all the farther she'd gotten since first arriving at her seaside holiday with Rhiannon four days ago. She read a few more words then something beyond the top of the book caught her imagination, causing her to lose focus once more.

Getting a glimpse of the cresting pattern of the water, she soon found herself spellbound by the waves, mesmerized by their steady rhythm as they billowed gently onto the shore. Various shells, bits of seaweed, and tiny sea creatures rode in on the foamy tide as it lapped at the sand.

"Mummy, I saw her!" Rhiannon cried breathlessly, interrupting Ginny's already interrupted thoughts. "I saw a mermaid!"

"Really?" her mother quizzed, slightly suspicious of such an unlikely event this early in the year.

"Yes – she's really there!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes . . she's **out** there," the girl insisted. She leapt up onto her tiptoes and spied the glistening water for the mysterious creature from the deep. Squinting her eyes, she flattened her tiny hand and pressed it to her pale eyebrows in an effort to cut the sun's glare as she studied the water.

"Well, she was there a minute ago . . . Wait!" she cried again. "It's her! Can't you see her, Mummy? There she is!" The enthusiastic child bounced on the balls of her feet and waved her arms, looking like she herself were desperate to be rescued from a deserted island. "Don't you see her? You must!"

Ginny, still trying to refocus on her book, sighed softly then peered in the general vicinity her daughter was pointing to. Not really seeing the alleged mermaid, she simply agreed, "Oh, yes, there she is. But I can't quite make out her hair color; what shade would you say that is, love?"

Mildly disappointed in her mother, the girl tutted, "Purple, of course – are you sure you see her?"

"Well, it's just that most merpeople have some _regular_ hair color. Some are blond, like Daddy, or redheads, like me, and others have black hair, dark as ink—"

She stopped in mid-sentence; her little girl, intent on finding the elusive, purple-haired mermaid, took no notice of it.

In spite of the hot sun that was beating down on her shoulders, Ginny shivered involuntarily as her own words sent a chill through to her very soul. Soon her mind was replaying her worst nightmare, as stark images of a handsome wizard with black hair flooded her mind. He was hurting her, bending her to his will; all the while, he grinned at her wickedly as his eyes, his icy cold eyes, laughed at her . . .

It was a horror she had never been able to put fully behind her. The wounds were stingingly fresh and hurt more deeply than anything she'd ever known, even more than her muddled memories her first year at Hogwarts. That was foreign to her because she was unaware of it; she'd had to be told about that afterward. But _this_ . . . this she remembered all too well. And with him, no less – her brother's best friend, _her_ friend, the so-called 'hero' of the wizarding world – the deception was absolute.

The Boy Who Lived. She couldn't recall a time when she hadn't admired him or trusted him completely. The sharp pain of having that trust obliterated in a matter of minutes cut into her heart and had threatened to quash her spirit. Ginny believed that were it not for the quick response and treatment Brian Gilpin had employed, and the therapy that Dr. Winterbourne had encouraged her to seek, the bitterness she felt might have consumed her.

Rhiannon finally gave up on spotting the mermaid again. She exhaled loudly then turned to look at her mother. She stared at her, a worried look on her fresh little face. "Mummy, are you all right?" her tiny voice broke into the woman's private thoughts.

Ginny smiled with effort. "Of course, dear. Mummy's fine."

She drew herself up and looked at her beautiful, precious daughter, the one part of Draco that would remain with her forever, no matter how much time passed.

Suddenly, silently, she vowed that for her children's sake, she would move forward.

She _did_ want to live again.

The young mother snapped her book shut and laid it aside. Laying a hand on Rhiannon's slender shoulder, she suggested, "Come on – let's go finish that sand castle. How many rooms did you say it has?"

"Fifty-seven, so it's almost as big as Hogwarts," she said brightly, taking her mother's sweaty palm, "only twenty of them are underground, so you can't really see them . . "

*****

Back at his sprawling, stately home, Lucius Malfoy slammed the door of his study shut. The servants who were standing nearby jumped; all of them knew master did _not_ wished to be disturbed. In fact, the door would only open briefly to allow Toddy to bring the wizard his evening meal. Strangely, he had been taking all his meals alone in his study since his family had gone on holiday.

"_Lumos,"_ he said, lighting the room. He set aside the packet he had gotten from Nadine then took his place at the desk in the oversized leather chair. Intent on reading the letter that Gilpin had written to Ginny, he magically unsealed it.

Before he could begin, Toddy quietly entered the study. He walked as if on eggshells, carrying a tray laden with his master's dinner and a small pot of tea, perfectly steeped to the wizard's liking. The elf gingerly set it down on the side of the desk. Shooing his servant away brusquely, Mr. Malfoy started reading in earnest. He muttered parts of it aloud and occasionally laughed to himself.

"_Dearest Ginny, I hope this message finds you well," _he quoted. "Blah, blah, blah . . _ While I am happy that your personal ordeal is now over, and that you and your family are recovering, I would be lying if I said that I do not miss seeing you every day." _

He rolled his eyes and scoffed once more. "Please," he mocked at the parchment, as if Brian could actually hear him. The letter rambled on and on, until finally, the writer reached his belabored point.

Lucius read aloud, _"I was wondering whether you would like to join me in seeing a muggle play in London. There is one from America that is supposed to be quite good. I seem to have forgotten the name, but my receptionist assures me it is very entertaining. _

"_Please let me know at your earliest convenience when you would like to go so that I may acquire tickets."_

His lip curled in utter disdain. "You presumptuous cur," he sneered as he rose to his feet. "When does she want to go out with _you?_"

Laying the letter out on his desk, he summoned a silver dagger that doubled as an opener. He stabbed it through the parchment onto the desk as he hissed, "Never! She's _mine_, Gilpin!"

With a satisfied flourish of his wand and a choice spell, the letter conveyed an entirely different message.

"Take _that_, lover boy," he scorned. Chuckling to himself, he repaired the rip in the letter where he had pierced it with his dagger then resealed it. "There, good as new," he surveyed. He placed it in the left-hand drawer of his desk then cut into his roast beef.

In between bites, he turned his attention to the file he had brought back from Saint Mungo's. He peeked inside, anxious to fill his head with its contents, intent on soaking up every detail . . everything there was to know. It intrigued him – what she knew, what her thoughts were. And mostly importantly, if the Healers believed they had exhausted all avenues. Soon, he was lost to all else, and his food and tea gradually grew cold.

Almost an hour later, there was a soft knock on the door of study. Vexed at the intrusion, his nostrils flared slightly.

"_Master?"_ Shilla ventured with caution.

"Toddy already brought my dinner. I am not finished yet – and I do **not** want to be disturbed!!!" he shouted crossly. As he did, he continued thumbing through the random stacks of parchment, all of it littered with Gilpin's unkempt scribbling.

"Please, forgive Shilla, but Master's family is returned from holiday." The house-elf shook where he stood, fearing the wizard's retribution, as if it were somehow Shilla's fault that the lady of the house had chosen now to Portkey back home with young Miss Malfoy.

"Well," Lucius snipped, "I wasn't expecting them until tomorrow." Standing up, he stuffed the file into a desk drawer and then motioned for the elf to remove the dinner tray.

He straightened his robes and hair, tucking in the slender, pale strands that had escaped his ponytail during the day, and commanded, "Tell them both to dress quickly and come down for dinner. No, wait. On second thought – serve the girl's meal in her room; her nanny can look after her. Tell Ginevra to join me in the dining room in ten minutes. And see if she wants dinner or just dessert. Either way, bring some brandy and two snifters."

"Yes, sir, Master Malfoy," Shilla replied. He left swiftly, levitating the tray with the half-eaten dinner and cold tea above his head.

Taking another glance in the full-length mirror that stood behind the door, Lucius smirked at his reflection. He could feel his heart skip a beat at the thought of seeing her again. He had missed her terribly, more than he thought he would when he had first consented to her taking this little trip with his granddaughter. Picturing her warm, pretty smile, her glorious ginger locks, something stirred in him, something he had thought had died long ago. Just before he left the room, he turned his wand toward the desk and put everything back in its place.

*****

"Ginevra—"

"_Grandpa!"_ a child's squeal came echoing down the long, wide hallway. "I missed you sooo much!"

"Hello, my little poppet!" he lovingly greeted his granddaughter. She gave him a kiss and an enthusiastic hug, which he returned as he patted her back. "How was the sea, angel? Did you have fun?"

She smiled widely. "Oh, the sea was wonderful. We built sand castles, we played in the water – I even saw a _mermaid,_ with purple hair!"

"That's smashing, sweetheart. Grandpa is very glad you're home. You can tell me all about it tomorrow. But now I need to speak with your mummy alone, so be a good little girl and go on up to your room. Your nanny will get you ready for bed." She nodded then he whispered conspiratorially, "Your baby brother is probably asleep, but once you're in your pajamas, how would you like to take a peek at Lucas?"

The girl nodded eagerly then gave a wide yawn, and a house-elf guided her up the stairs and to her room.

He addressed Ginny once more. "My dear, you look ravishing. I trust you had a wonderful time," he said with a genuine smile.

He placed his hands on her shoulders then kissed her on both cheeks, the second one a bit longer than the first. She looked up at him, his grey eyes glowing at her, his nose just inches from hers; she was struck for a moment how very much his son had looked like him, how they were both strangely handsome in their unique way. And just briefly, she felt a secret thrill at his being so near to him—

But no . . that _couldn't_ be right. She had only missed the man's company, that was all. After all, she'd had almost no one to talk to other than Rhiannon for the better part of a week, and she was simply ready for some adult conversation.

And yet she found she couldn't look away from his piercing gaze for several seconds. Nor could she ignore the way he was lightly squeezing her shoulders.

_Did he just lick his lips?_ she wondered silently. _No, I'm imagining things – must have gotten too much sun today._ Anxious to put some space between them, she stepped back a bit; only then did he release his hold on her as his arms dropped to his sides. She looked away awkwardly, almost as if she were suddenly unnerved by his mere presence.

Feeling slightly foolish, her mind asserted, _My father-in-law most certainly does __**not**__ fancy me. _

_Nor I, him. _

Despite the fact that he had let go of her, she could feel the weight of his gaze. She looked up at him again, and he took her hand and brushed his lips softly against it. With a faint smile, he offered, "Which would you prefer – cold roast beef sandwiches or blueberry pie?" Well aware of her soft spot for desserts, especially ones made with fruit, he knew before he asked her. She smiled at the gesture anyway, and they moved toward the table. He released his grasp on her fingers. When he did, Ginny felt relief mingled with a twinge of disappointment.

Toddy brought an engraved silver tray into the room. He set the two delectable-looking desserts on the table, one in front of the chair at the head of the table – which had always been reserved for only the Master – and the other at the chair immediately to his left. The late Mrs. Malfoy had usually sat at the end farthest from her husband, with their son somewhere in between. Where he sat would vary, depending on which parent he was less annoyed with at the moment . . usually, the one who had recently bought him the most lavish gift.

When Lucius pulled out her chair for her to sit down, she eyed him once more with a puzzled look on her face. He took his seat at the table then laughed softly to himself.

"What?" she asked as she picked up her fork and cut into her pie.

He shrugged. "Nothing, really. I'm just surprised how much I missed you two. It was so quiet around here; other than Lucas occasionally testing his vocal chords, the house was like a tomb."

They ate their desserts in a comfortable silence. Then out of the blue, both of them spoke at once, accidentally cutting each other off. Embarrassed, she said, "No, go ahead. What were you going to say?"

"No, you first," he insisted.

"I was just going to ask if there were any messages or letters for me."

Lucius looked down at his plate, feigning concentration, as if he were giving her question serious thought. "No, none that I can think of." Seeing her mildly dejected expression, he asked, "Why? Were you expecting any?" He took another nibble of his dessert then took a swig of brandy.

"Well, I thought that Luna might drop me a line. You know, about our next meeting with the caterers."

He shook his head. "Not that I remember. Why don't you Floo her tomorrow?"

Ginny said she would and proceeded to tell him about their seaside trip. "Of course, once we'd been there two days and Rhiannon was asking when she could go back and ride her pony. She just loves that animal! I promised to take her out tomorrow morning. It's Saturday; do you want to come along?" she offered.

When he hesitated, she sighed and said, "Oh, I'm _so_ dense – what am I thinking? You must have a million things to do already."

"Actually, no – not tomorrow, anyway; it's tonight that's the problem. I'm committed to assist a few of my colleagues in some research, and I promised I'd send it over tonight. One of them is expecting an owl from me by midnight so that he and the others can proceed with their plans early in the morning. It's for Hobbes – you remember him from Lucas's welcoming party?"

She nodded as she took another bite of her pie, so he went on. "Well, he gets quite irritable when he doesn't get proper rest, so the group's success is now on _my_ shoulders. I'm going to work a bit more on that tonight, so I may need a lie-in tomorrow."

"What sort of project is it?" she asked, swirling the brandy and bringing it to her lips.

"Oh, you know the Ministry. All they're saying to **me** is, _'Malfoy, you're a reformed Death Eater, an ex-prisoner – so we can't really tell you anything about it. But do give us all the information you can. There's a good man.'_ "

He polished off his brandy in one gulp. Frowning, he stared into the empty snifter in his right hand and sighed. "I wonder, Ginevra, will anyone ever trust me again?"

She placed her creamy, soft fingers over his other hand and gave him a sympathetic smile. "I do."

He set down his glass and enveloped her hand with his. "Just hearing you say that means so much to me." His eyes were glowing as they took her in once more. "You are a wonderful woman, Ginevra Malfoy, and I am honored to have you as my friend."

She felt an indescribable warmth course through her. Was she lightheaded from the sun she'd gotten? Was it because the man who was caressing her hands reminded her so much of her late husband? Or was it just the brandy?

Regardless, she knew she had to get away. She stood up and said, "I'm going to draw a bath and relax. Then I'll look in on Lucas and Rhiannon and go on to sleep. Good night, Lucius." And she turned to go.

When she was halfway to the stairs, he called to her. "Wait, there _was_ a note for you. From Gilpin – let me get it." He summoned the letter from his study and unsealed it.

Looking at the salutations, he held it out to her and asked, "Would you like to read it? It's to both of us, actually."

"No," she said with a tired shrug, "you go ahead."

"_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,"_ he read from the carefully fabricated letter. _"I hope this letter finds you well, etcetera, etcetera."_ Scanning the page, he revealed more of its contents.

"_I am writing to inform you that after extensive research, the hospital staff and I have come to the conclusion that there was no evidence of foul play whatsoever in Narcissa Malfoy's death. She died of pneumonia that was exacerbated by poor health habits."_

Ginny fretted and bit her lip. "I was always after her to eat better . . take better care of herself, you know. But she wouldn't listen to me."

He stopped reading aloud and perused it to the end. "That's about it. He goes on with some closing pleasantries and the like, if you're interested," he added offering the parchment to her. She declined as she struggled to fight the tears that threatened to spill from her brown eyes.

She stunned him by running into his arms. Crying softly, she murmured, "I miss her . . _so_ much."

Lucius wrapped his arms around her and drew her close to him. He shushed her gently then placed his hands on her soft auburn hair, fingering it tenderly. Never had he seen a shade of red so perfect, so fiery, so appealing. He inhaled deeply then took her face into his hands. It took all his strength not to devour her, but he knew that now was not the time.

Yet gazing into her eyes, he was painfully aware that it was becoming more difficult to deny his body what it wanted. The urge to just pick her up and carry her to his private chambers was becoming almost unbearable. He ached for her to touch him like she once did.

She felt it, too; he _knew_ she did. Her thinly-veiled desire was palpable and more intoxicating than the brandy. Releasing her face, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressing his body very close to hers. When he did, she nearly jumped from his arms, only to have him pull her back by the waist.

"What's wrong, Ginevra?" he whispered in a husky voice.

She stuttered, "P-please let me go."

He complied but not before briefly pressing his hips into hers. She gasped softly. The close contact was so sudden, so quick, that she wondered if it was the brandy that was muddling her thinking – for surely, she had to have only imagined that . .

She looked away nervously then turned to go. "Good night," she murmured.

"See you tomorrow, dear. Pleasant dreams."

Watching her ascend the stairs, he ground his teeth in frustration. He knew he would have her again, but when? And he was not without patience; being in Azkaban – twice – and working with Lord Voldemort for years had given him more than enough of that. Still, her coyness . . it was really starting to _annoy_ him, the way she repeatedly left him alone, just when things were beginning to escalate.

_Literally, _he thought as he looked down his body and frowned. And bugger it all, it was Nicolette's night off.

Pacing toward his study once more, he decided, _Time to step this plan into a higher gear._

He unlocked the lower right-hand drawer of his desk, the one that had a secret locking charm that only his voice would trigger, and slowly withdrew a heavy but small bag. It was made centuries ago, sewn out of a dense, green velvet material that was extraordinarily rare for its day. It had a gold drawstring pulled tightly at the top and the Malfoy crest emblazoned on the front. He carefully set the bag on top of the desk, loosened the strings at the neck, and took out its secret treasure: a crystal ball, four inches in diameter, that was flat on the bottom.

But this was not the everyday, Professor Trelawney, run-of-the-mill crystal ball. It had been a congratulatory gift from his father when Lucius pledged his own son to the Dark Lord, over twenty years ago. And it did much more than just 'unfog the future'.

Placing the iridescent orb reverently on his desk, he tapped it with his wand and muttered a few words. He gazed into the object and waited. Within a few moments, he was rewarded, and a smile flitted across his thin lips as two eyes peered back at him from within the object.

But they were hardly the red ones he expected to see.

"Pettigrew?" It was more a question than a statement of recognition. "Why the hell did _you_ answer? Is He out of pocket?"

No sooner had Lucius said this when a shriek rang out from the ball. It was followed by a man's voice pleading for mercy then a high-pitched cackle. Frightened by the proximity of the curses that were being thrown, Peter Pettigrew turned his head sharply and sniffed the air like the rat that he was. He shuddered then cleared his throat nervously; turning around once more, he squinted his eyes to regain his focus as he stared back at him.

"Hello, Malfoy," the beady-eyed, balding man said as he scrutinized him warily. "He's rather busy at the moment. But hang on, I'll go get him. I know he wants to talk to you."

~End of Chapter~

Notes: Oooh, looks like the 'reformed' Death Eater isn't exactly reformed, is he? ;-) (But then, I would be very surprised if he were.) And a chocolate frog to anyone who can guess the 'famous American muggle' who wrote the book Ginny is reading. He didn't really; I just wanted to see if anyone had a guess as to whom I was referring. Include it in your review or e-mail it to me.

Thanks for reading, and please leave a review!


	8. Chapter 7

Author's Notes: Okay, long chapter ahead. Lots of character and plot development, so let's get right to it, shall we? Thanks for reading and reviewing, and thank you Fyrechild for beta reading it!

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith - Chapter 7**_

Pettigrew gave the Apparition coordinates; Lucius, most anxious to speak with their master, was there within seconds. He was eager to update him on his progress and to see if the Dark Lord had any advice for him. Following behind Wormtail, he glided noiselessly toward the chamber that Voldemort normally held audience in.

As the two wizards moved along the dark corridor, they could hear the sound of anguished cries echoing through the building. The noises made Pettigrew shiver and Malfoy smirk as he snickered silently to himself. _Just follow the screaming_.

When they pushed open the door, they saw a man and woman floating about ten feet overhead, struggling to fight the magical stasis that held them. Both of them were surrounded by a faint, whitish-blue haze, and, judging by the shocked looks on their faces, not only were they muggles, they were absolutely horrified.

The man whom Lucius Malfoy had called 'Master' for most of his adult life was seated in his throne on the dais. He appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. His red eyes were dancing and glowing with delight, his mouth drawn into a playful smile, almost like a child to whom Father Christmas had been especially good this year. When he finally spared them a glance, the blond thought that some of the joy had gone out of his eyes, though he wasn't sure why.

Voldemort quickly ordered, "Leave us, Wormtail." Only too happy to oblige, the sniveling creature retreated swiftly, practically running for the door.

"Wormtail!" his master snapped, calling him back as if he had forgotten something.

"Y-yes, sir?" Pettigrew asked hesitantly.

Disgusted, he scoffed, "Well? Take _that_ with you," he said, indicating the two muggles and adding coldly, "Dispose of them in the usual fashion." The man was dumbstruck with terror, and the woman fainted.

Not wishing to feel his master's wrath, Peter Pettigrew promptly complied with his wishes. He scampered out of the room, this time bringing the muggles with him, who were still hovering in the air. When the large doors had closed behind them, and the Dark Lord spoke again.

"_Crucio!" _

Completely unprepared for the attack, Lucius felt intense pain like he had not felt in a very long time, not since before he had left Azkaban. The shock of it literally knocked him over. A burning ripped through his body, and his eyes started to stream tears. The agony seemed like it would never end – but eventually, as it always did, it stopped.

Crawling on his hands and knees, he gasped for breath. When he found voice, he croaked, "Forgive me, Master, but what was that for? Have I done something to . . . _displease_ you?" Malfoy found it difficult to keep the bitter taste from rising up in his throat.

Voldemort glared at him, his face filled with contempt. "I should just kill you and get it over with," he hissed. Lucius made no attempt to reply, knowing better than to rile the powerful wizard any further. Instead, his mind was racing, wondering in what way he had failed.

The Dark Lord steepled his fingers pensively in front of him and closed his eyes in concentration. "Malfoy," he drawled, "when you were released from prison, you promised – you _promised_ – to do some things for me to prove your loyalty. That was quite some time ago, and yet you have not completed them. Tell me, are you still worthy of being called a Death Eater?"

Still dealing with the remnants of the painful curse, yet perturbed by the accusation, Lucius sought to block his mind as he struggled to quell his increasing annoyance. Was he loyal? Was he _worthy? _ He felt he had made great strides in achieving his master's goals – _all_ of them. He had only come here tonight to crow a little, and to seek some aid; perhaps a new charm or spell that would help him in his taking of Ginevra. After all, how often does one of the Dark Lord's followers get accepted into the family of such a high Ministry official as Arthur Weasley? Marrying his daughter, and then corrupting her thoroughly, held such promise – not to mention, pleasure.

With his head bowed reverently, Lucius chose his next words very carefully. "Master, I have done what I could. Harry Potter _is_ dead, and not a drop of his blood on my hands, or any of your followers'. It was ruled a 'tragic accident', just as you requested. My disobedient son is also dead, and I have another one to offer you in his place, also in compliance with your orders. I don't know what else you expect of me so soon."

His lord said nothing; his eyes remained cool and impassive.

"And as Lucas's father, I will see to it personally that he will not disobey. And he won't be my only one. I assure you, there will be more, all of them glad to serve only you. With Narcissa now out of the way—"

"Yes, I did hear of Narcissa's death," Voldemort interrupted. "Very resourceful, Malfoy. Can it be traced to you?"

"No, my Lord."

"Good. Now on to the bigger problem . . the _Weasleys._ There are still far too many of the blood-traitors; only one of the sons is dead?"

Lucius swallowed nervously. "Yes, sir."

"And you call that progress? Why aren't you out there, getting rid of them? I told you, Lucius," he ranted, his voice rising, "I want you to _destroy_ Arthur Weasley, once and for all! He and his surviving children are the bane of my existence."

"Forgive me, Master – I mean no disrespect – but the son who died was Percy. He was Arthur's favorite son. Once at the office, I heard him telling Kingsley Shacklebolt, when he thought no one else was there, that of all his children, the two he would be most devastated to lose were Percy and Ginny."

He glared at him with disdain. "She lives with you, doesn't she? Then why are you _here?_"

Lucius's his eyes were alight with a flame; still on his knees, he said earnestly, "Yes, my Lord. That is exactly why I'm here. To report to you that Ginevra is just weeks away from succumbing to my advances . . and to humbly request your help."

Taken slightly aback at the man's audacious request, he blinked. "And you're _sure_ she suspects nothing?"

"No. And she is weakening; I can feel it." He added in a whisper, "It won't be long."

Voldemort gave him the faintest smile. It was the first time he'd shown anything other than disgust since Lucius first arrived. "She pleases you, then?"

"Very much."

At last, the man in the chair passed his judgment. "Yes, I know first-hand that Ginevra can be . . _persuaded_. She would make a fine Pureblood wife. And with her faith in the late Harry Potter shattered – by the way, Lucius, good job on that – it will be that much less work." He chuckled to himself then went on. "So phase one is finished, and phase two nearly so . . . And you're sure she will agree to this?"

"Quite; the red-headed vixen will be mine. You can depend on another Malfoy-Weasley wedding."

When Lucius noticed a flicker of a grin cross his master's face, he breathed a bit easier. He smirked and said to him, "Rest assured, my Lord: When she becomes my bride and gives birth to my sons, it will be the final nail in her father's coffin."

Voldemort gave him another twisted smile. "What about Lucas? Does she know he is your son?"

"No, sir. She believes him to be Draco's. She's not sure if the baby was slightly premature, or if she was actually pregnant when her husband left for his two-week business trip and she just didn't know it. It depends on her mood when you ask her," he added wryly.

"Good," the Dark Lord said with a nod. "Still, I have _heard_ . . . but it's probably nothing."

Lucius's face showed genuine concern. "Heard what, my Lord?"

"I heard a rumor of a process – a medical process that muggles use to determine who a child's father actually is." He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Like I said, probably nothing, considering the source."

"And who was that?" the blond asked, trying to muster a confident smile.

"Marcus Flint, our resident 'knower of all things muggle'," he mocked. "I'm beginning to question where that boy's loyalties lie. Soon he will be as bad as Arthur Weasley himself."

In what he hoped was a respectful tone, Lucius said, "As long as he never makes friends with any of them – at least, for Millicent and the boys' sake."

His master eyed him warily; after carefully considering him for several moments, he spoke. "Be that as it may – I have decided to give you one more tool to assist you in the accomplishment of your goal . . . "

The visit, however painful, turned out to be profitable indeed.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at Malfoy Manor, Ginny practically raced up the stairs, her heart pounding madly. She had to calm down; she had to think. She paced the hallway outside her room a few times then placed a hand on her chest. When she could feel her heart slowing down a little, she exhaled with finality. 

Deciding to forego her bath for the moment, she stopped in the nursery to say good night to Lucas. Her beautiful little boy was curled up in a ball, his thumb in his mouth, his blanket was tossed to one side. Ginny bent down and draped it over his pale shoulders. He was getting so big; she could have sworn he had grown since she left on Tuesday.

Summoning the bag of goodies she had picked up at the hotel gift shop, she withdrew a toy, a green stuffed dragon. She nudged it under his little arm, which reflexively tightened around it. He cuddled it, stirring slightly, but never waking. She couldn't resist smiling at the sight. Or touching his innocent little face and running a finger down his cute little nose, which would inevitably take on the shape that identified him as a Malfoy, just as his sister's was starting to do.

"_Good night, my angel,"_ she whispered.

She popped in to visit Rhiannon, but she was already asleep. It was no wonder – the poor girl had barely rested in the strange room at the seaside hotel. She never slept very well when they were away from home. When Ginny mentioned this to the muggle therapist she had seen, he theorized that this was probably because the girl's father had died in a hotel room.

She looked down at the darling girl and sighed. Then she left and headed down the hallway toward her own room.

_Time for a soak in the tub._

While she drew the bath water, she examined herself in the massive wall mirror with a critical eye. Although she had borne two children, her body didn't look that different than it had the day of her wedding. She turned around and eyed her bum; passing judgment on it, she decided it wasn't half-bad. Walking, horseback riding, and the occasional Quidditch match with friends helped keep her in fairly good shape.

_I must be somewhat attractive . . at least Brian Gilpin seems interested, and he's okay._

Glancing down at the marble countertop, she noticed that her wedding photo was setting next to her sink. She frowned slightly. It was supposed to be on her bedside table; what was it doing in here?

_I must speak to the house-elves tomorrow. Photos of Draco and me, especially wedding photos, are **not** to be moved._

She picked up the elegantly-framed photograph and gazed at it. Seeing herself, the happy bride, and the way her groom's face simply glowed . . They were both so elated and filled with joy. That day, the world was _theirs_.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of her face in the bathroom mirror. She was taken aback by the striking difference between the two. Just then, a pang of regret and longing started to cloud her mind, but she caught herself just in time.

_This is absurd. I've got to stop feeling sorry for myself. I should be happy for what we had, how much we loved each other – and grateful that we have two glorious children, _she thought as she turned off the water. _It's time to pick myself up and move on._

But it was difficult. She had lost so much . . Draco, Narcissa, Percy, and for all intents and purposes, the rest of her family, and Hermione. Sometimes she felt entirely alone. Her children gave her solace, but they could not fill the ache in her heart. She knew she was lucky to have met up with Luna and Neville again just in time for their wedding. And Millie and Pansy had both actually turned out to be very good friends to her.

Looking at her opulent surroundings – a far cry from the Burrow, indeed – she laughed in spite of herself. She had an amazing life, an incredible life.

So why didn't she feel like it?

She smirked at the stranger in the mirror then rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Ginny Weasley. Poor little rich girl." Placing the photo back on the counter, she turned around and sank into the tub.

The warmth enveloped her. She relaxed as random thoughts drifted through her mind. She thought about the book that Dr. Winterbourne had loaned her – the one she was supposed to have read on holiday. It said that a person musn't die along with the loved one, and that after a sufficient period of mourning, moving on was healthy for the surviving partner. The book must have said anything else, but she didn't remember it. She was starting to feel a bit guilty about her half-hearted attempt to actually learn from it, but she shoved the feeling aside.

Submerging her sponge into the water, she contemplated where one might go to meet a nice man. After all, eligible bachelors weren't just hanging about Malfoy Manor, bridal shops, and caterers' offices. It seemed that everyone she knew met their spouse at school or work, neither of which was really an option for her. Sighing heavily, she lathered up her bar of vanilla-scented soap. And other than Brian, who else did she know? Sadly, few prospects came to mind. It seemed that all of her and Ron's former classmates were either married, involved with someone else, or hopelessly gay.

Rinsing her shoulders and the nape of her neck, she decided that she would have to go out more often. Mingle; be more social. But not by herself, and definitely **not** to any nightclubs. According to Hermione, those were only for girls who were on the pull, looking for a quick, no-regrets shag. She wondered vaguely if Luna knew anyone, but she shot that idea down rather quickly. Knowing how quirky she was, Ginny could only imagine what kind of oddballs she would meet through her.

_What about . . ? Dare I—_

"No. Absolutely not," she retorted as she scrubbed her arms liberally.

She would **not** owl Hermione. They had nothing to say to one another. It was bad enough they would have to see – and actually _speak_ – to each other at the wedding this fall. But the rift between them was simply too deep. Ginny didn't know how Hermione felt, but for her, the friendship was beyond repair.

She closed her eyes to concentrate, thinking about men she already knew. Her thoughts unguarded, she saw a flash of grey eyes, laughing, sparkling, burning with intensity . . .

"Not now, Draco, go away," she whispered to her memories. "I'm trying to move on. Not to _replace_ you – I could never do that – but to live once more, to feel . . "

She gasped.

Those weren't Draco's eyes. Snatching up her sponge again, she hurriedly washed the rest of her body. "I refuse to think that," she hissed defiantly to the steamy room. She pulled the stopper and quickly rose to her feet, wringing the sponge as if she were squeezing the life out of it. Banishing such ludicrous thoughts from her mind, she dried off and readied herself for bed.

Ginny approached the vanity in her room, picked up her favorite brush, and began the required 100 strokes. During the mundane task, she thought once more about what had happened over dessert, and afterward, when Lucius had held her. It did feel . . strangely nice. But her logical side insisted that it just _had_ to be wrong.

She continued her brushing, this time, counting aloud to distract herself. "Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four . . . "

Yet she couldn't get the images out of her mind. Her head felt light. It was as though her logical side was still on holiday at the beach.

_It was very nice, and it seemed to surprise him as well, but he did appear to like it . . ._

When she had finished her brushing, she looked across the top of the vanity, where something unusual caught her eye.

_Wasn't my brush just . . over there, instead of in its usual place? _ Shrugging, she set it down where it belonged and rearranged the things around it: her silver hand-held mirror, several perfume bottles, the crystal atomizer her Grandmother Prewett had owned and wanted her to have.

Thoroughly exhausted and warmed by the prospect of sleeping in her own bed tonight, Ginny leapt into it. She smiled to herself and closed her eyes. As she started to drift off to sleep, a daring thought crept into her mind . . Perhaps Lucius's feelings for her were not strictly parental in nature. It was a thought she dismissed with one of Hagrid's favorite sayings:

_Codswollop._

* * *

The following weekend, Ginny went to visit Dr. Winterbourne for Sunday afternoon tea. She liked the muggle physician's small flat; it was so different from Malfoy Manor. Although she enjoyed the glamour of the mansion, this was closer to what she'd grown up with, except that there were no knitting needles suspended in mid-air with no one guiding them, nor several boisterous, shouting boys of all ages, clambering for attention. 

Very quaint in its own way, the place was charming and uniquely decorated – mostly because the frugal doctor loved getting a bargain. The sofa, with its crocheted afghan tossed over the back, looked like something she might have gotten it at a jumble sale. There were oodles of mismatched, fluffy throw pillows stuffed in the window seat. But what Ginny loved most was that it always _smelled_ like home. There was usually a cake or a loaf of bread in the oven and tea on the stove. Sometimes, the witch would forget that she was sitting right in the middle of London.

_But you can't go home again, can you?_ she reminded herself.

Having been told to let herself in the front door, the visitor entered the kitchen. "Hello," she greeted her guest with a warm smile, which Ginny returned. "You're just in time. Can you get out the pumpkin bread for me? The oven mitts are just over there."

Donning the mitts, she reached into the oven and lifted the fresh bread nearer to her nose. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply of the spices – the cinnamon, the nutmeg, the scent of the Burrow in autumn. She smiled sadly to herself, set the pan down where her friend had indicated, and started to pull her bag off her shoulder.

"Oh, wait . . I've brought your book back, Dr. Winterbourne," she said as she set it on the counter. At least she had the forethought to cast a charm on the book to make it appear _slightly_ worn and not fresh off the shelf.

With her hands on her hips and a smirk on her face, the doctor asked, "Ginny, how long have we known each other?"

"I – I guess since that time when my dad and I came to out to your place in the country to pick up your cousin and Percy. We walked up out of nowhere; no car, no taxi, not even a bus as far as you could see . . you must have thought we were nuts."

"Frankly, I did. But I knew that Brian was a wizard, and anyone who went to school with him was bound to be, well, _different_." She carefully maneuvered her way around the tiny kitchen until she reached the cupboard; she took out two cups, obviously from different sets, and asked, "And I was, what – thirteen?"

"I don't know; if I was _ten_, then Percy was fourteen—"

"Well, I think we've known each other long enough for you to call me 'Stella' when we're not in my office – this is a social visit! Anyway, it makes me feel so old when you say _'Dr. _Winterbourne'," she said, purposely overemphasizing the title and looking down her nose as if she actually were a snob. When she put it that way, Ginny did feel a bit silly.

As the two women sat down, Stella poured the tea and sighed. "Ahh, lovely Percy. A bookworm's dreamboat, I must say. I had such a crush on him," she said with a reflective smile. Offering her friend a cup, she said curiously, "So what's he up to these days?"

Ginny looked into her cup pensively as she slowly stirred her tea. "He was killed a couple of years ago. He had a thing for this girl who was a law enforcement officer for the Ministry of Magic. He went along on one of her missions, and by the time it was all over . . . she was injured, and he was dead." She looked away, a pained expression on her face.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Stella whispered. "I-I didn't know . . I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's all right. How could you have known?"

"Well, I guess I could have asked Brian. But he and Percy seemed to grow apart as the years went by." She paused, sipping her tea. Longing to fill the awkward silence, she clapped her hands once and declared, "Well, no more talking about things that make us sad, right?" She sliced the pumpkin bread and offered a piece to Ginny, who gladly accepted the scrumptious treat.

While they were both nibbling on their desserts, the doctor casually mentioned her cousin once more. "Getting back to Brian, though, I was just . . _wondering_ whether you had gotten a letter from him recently?" she asked, barely getting the words out before quickly stuffing a rather large bite of pumpkin bread into her mouth.

"A letter from Brian? Well, there was one after Rhiannon and I returned home from holiday."

Her friend's hazel eyes drew wide as she looked over the rim of her cup. "What did it say?" she prompted eagerly.

"I don't recall, exactly. I only remember it being . . well, odd, really."

Stella shook her head and squinted her eyes. "Asking a girl out to a play is _odd?_" she said with a laugh. "Which part is odd? The fact that it stars muggles or that it's from America?"

Now it was Ginny's turn to laugh. "What? A play? Is that what he told you?"

"_Told_ me? He showed me the bloody letter!"

"Well, it must have been a different one, because this was addressed to Lucius, too." She took a moment to think; what _had_ that letter said, anyway? It was so uncharacteristically cold for Brian . . something to do with—

Suddenly, she remembered. "Of course. It was about my mother-in-law. He said that no foul play was involved and that she died of natural causes."

The doctor was flabbergasted. "That little shit," she blurted out. "So he didn't ask you out, like he told me he was going to?"

"So . . he wants to take me out? Well, that's – sweet," Ginny pronounced. She drained her cup then poured another for both of them.

Stella groaned and muttered to herself, "I can't believe he did that." Looking at her friend, she said, "I'm sorry, Ginny. I've spoken out of turn again, but I thought you knew. He showed me the letter to see if I thought it sounded all right – if it might tempt you to say yes." Embarrassed, she gave her a weak smile and shrugged slightly.

Feeling dejected, Ginny frowned and stared into her tea. She swirled the milk around and drizzled in the honey, watching it melt. "Well, I always thought he liked me. Do you think he's changed his mind?"

"Nonsense! Why would he change his mind? You're practically all he talks about. He's just – socially challenged, that's all." Reaching across the small round table, she patted Ginny's hand and added, "God, it seems like I only open my mouth to switch feet! I'm so sorry I spilled the beans."

"S'all right." The witch picked at the remaining crumbs of bread that were left on her plate.

A few moments later, Stella drained the last of her tea then said excitedly, "Ooh, read my tea leaves, please? I've always wanted to have that done by someone who's _not_ a fake!"

Ginny looked up at her with empty eyes and said blandly, "They're all fakes, Stella."

* * *

Close to an hour later, she left the London flat to find an Apparition point from which to go home. After her friend had gone, Stella set about picking up the tea things and straightening her kitchen. She paused to take a moment to examine the remaining dregs in her cup; wondering if they could really mean anything, she thought, _They're in the shape of sort of a wonky cross . . . I wonder if Brian would know what that means?_

Thinking of her cousin, she blew out a frustrated breath as she walked over to the sink, dishes in hand. Soon she was fuming at him, angrily tossing cups and plates into the sink. She was going to give that wizard cousin of hers a piece of her mind – how _dare_ he put her on the spot like that! Why hadn't he just gone through with what they had originally planned? All he had to do was write to Ginny and ask her out; if she didn't respond, Stella would have tea with her Sunday next and get her reaction. And the rest would work, just like magic.

"Ha! Magic," she muttered to herself, as she dried her hands on a soft, cotton towel. She grabbed her purse, fumbled through it for her mobile phone, which she nearly dropped, then firmly pressed his speed dial number. As it started to ring, she inhaled and exhaled, her anger subsiding slightly. It rang once more, twice—

"Hey, Stella," Brian answered casually.

"Don't you 'Hey Stella' me, you cowardly, lily-livered . . _wizard!_"

"Huh?"

"What do you mean, leaving me hanging on a wire without a net!"

"What are you on about?"

Amazed, she gasped, "That letter you sent to Ginny!"

"Oh, that's right." He gulped, suddenly realizing that it was _Sunday_ evening, not Saturday. He had been so wrapped up in brewing potions for work – so often, the ones at Saint Mungo's weren't _exactly_ right, and he didn't trust them – that he'd completely forgotten that today was the day Stella was going to see Ginny. He shuddered nervously, and his heart beat a bit faster. "How'd it go?"

"Dreadfully! What the hell were you _thinking_, sending her some other letter? What was wrong with what we'd planned? It was perfect!"

"What other letter?"

Stella sighed. Exasperated, she shook her head in frustration and motioned with her hands, as if he could actually see her. "Hello? That stupid one about her mother-in-law's death! After that sort of cold display, she'll never go out with you!"

But Brian was utterly lost. This conversation was going nowhere. Sitting down in his favorite chair, he pointed his wand at the pain management potion that was just starting to boil and paused its progress. He decided to take a different approach with his cousin; after all, she did tend to be a bit high-strung at times.

He asked her calmly, "What did this letter say?"

"You're joking, right?" She snapped, "What kind of potions have you been inhaling all afternoon?" When he didn't respond, she groaned, "It said that there was no evidence of foul play in Narcissa's death. Why did you feel it was necessary to mention _that?_"

Surprised, he wondered what had happened to the letter he originally wrote? Had it been intercepted or lost? Did the owl – but no. He remembered that he hadn't sent it by owl. He had handed it directly to—

"Mr. Malfoy," he said, completely out of the blue.

"Ginny's father-in-law? What about him?"

"W-well, I didn't send the letter by owl. I gave it to him and asked him to give it to her."

Growing even more impatient, Stella growled, "Urgh – wizards! And this means, _what_, exactly?"

"Well, it's not completely unheard of – although highly suspect, and slightly illegal . . still, it's very simple to do . . "

"_What_ is? Hello, I'm a muggle here; please clue me in to what the hell you're talking about!"

Brian explained, "To magically modify a letter. Or perhaps he just wrote a new one, or had a servant do it. Rich bastard like him must have a million of 'em."

"But why on earth would he do that?"

"I can't imagine. Maybe," he began then paused. "Maybe he doesn't _want_ her getting over the death of his only son."

The line went quiet for several moments. "Stella?" Brian finally said.

Her whispered reply baffled him even more.

"_Or is he?"_

End of Chapter

Notes: The plot thickens (finally-!) Let me know how you liked this chapter. Thanks!

By the way, the American muggle I was thinking of in Chapter 6 (who "wrote" the book _Learning to Live_) was Dr. Phil McGraw, commonly known as 'Dr. Phil'. Some people love him, but others call him a quack. :P


	9. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Author's Notes: Thank you for reading and reviewing!

Sorry for the lengthy delay, but I was busy writing a juicy little one-shot for the D/G Fic Exchange over at Livejournal. As soon as the hostesses of the exchange give us the go-ahead to reveal which fic was written by which author (our identities are currently a secret, so go see if you can figure out which one I wrote), I will upload it to my favorite fic sites. :P

Thank you, Fyrechild, for beta reading it, and Damkina for advice on British wedding traditions.

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith - Chapter 8**_

"Seamus." Luna wrote then paused her quill as she asked, "It's F-I-N-N-E-G-A-N, right?"

Ginny shook her head and, without looking up from her writing, corrected her. "F-I-N-N-_**I**_-G-A-N. There's no E in it."

Her friend nodded, mouthing the letters as she wrote them. As the young Irish man had been her finacee's dormmate for seven years, and since he was going to be in the wedding, this was just a formality.

Meanwhile, Ginny scrutinized the fourth envelope she had addressed in the beautiful, flowing script. "There!" she said proudly, deciding that she had finally gotten just the right touch on the lettering. The envelope would soon contain Ernie and Hannah Macmillan's invitation to Luna and Neville's wedding. Anyone who had been part of Dumbledore's Army, including the house-elves, was automatically invited.

Except, for obvious reasons, Marietta Edgecomb.

"Very nice, Ginny," Luna said with an admiring smile. Handing her a tightly-wound scroll of parchment that seemed to unroll forever, but was actually only about three feet long, she said casually, "When you finish those, here are some more names. Let me know when you run out."

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head at the enormous task before her. "Luna! There must be . . 200 names on this list! When did you get so many friends?"

"Well, my circle has expanded since I became Madam Pince's assistant a year ago September."

Shuffling her way through the seemingly endless list, she asked her, "How's that working out for you? Do you still like it?"

"Oh, I love it. She's so nice to work with!"

When Luna's eyes turned back to her own list of names, the young witch sitting across from her set down the scroll, shook her head in disbelief, and stifled a sigh. She couldn't see how anybody could describe that old busybody librarian as 'nice to work with'. _Except maybe Hermione,_ she thought.

Somewhere in her clouded memories, Ginny could still hear the screeches: _"Chocolate in the library! Out, OUT!"_ Later on that night, when she'd had time to reflect, she realized that it might have been the first time she had visited with Harry by herself and hadn't been embarrassingly nervous or utterly smitten with him. In fact, he had been desperate to speak with Sirius, and she had offered to help him. It was then that she started to realize that he was just another teenage wizard – alone, unsure of himself, scared – except that he was facing a bit more than most other wizards his age. As they had fled from the angry librarian, there was a camaraderie, a closeness, that Ginny had felt, and she wondered if he felt it, too. It was one of her happiest memories, up to that point.

Considering all that had happened since, she sometimes marveled that she could still think of him so warmly.

Vaguely aware that was Luna prattling on about how amazing the Hogwarts library was, she snapped out of her daydreams and pretended to have been listening the whole time.

"It sounds fantastic, Luna. But still, it looks like you're inviting the whole bloody school – every student, professor, staff member, and house-elf!"

"I am not," she insisted, getting in a bit of a huff. "Just a . . few . . . hundred. Naturally, all my former dormmates are invited – Neville's, too. And of course, his employees, _and_ his best customers from his herbology business."

"Which might explain why Vincent Crabbe's name is on the list," Ginny muttered as she slowly reached out for her fifth – or was it her sixth? – envelope.

"Oh, Vince buys loads of rare plants from Neville. He's trying to invent new potions; that's his passion."

Ginny nodded. "Of course – potions. Slytherins do tend to excel at that." After she had carefully scripted the names _'Roger and Cho Davies'_, she said thoughtfully, "Speaking of potions, I wonder if Professor Snape will turn up for the wedding after all this time. Even though he never really liked Neville at school, he must at least respect him, professionally speaking."

Luna cocked her head to one side. "Well, I don't think Snape has ordered anything in quite some time – at least, not that Neville's mentioned. His earlier visits to the shop were something he _definitely_ brought up. He was so excited!"

The young widow nodded and gave her friend a wilting smile. She rather missed seeing Snape at Malfoy Manor; he and Narcissa had become so close just before Draco died. As she had often suspected, he wasn't really an absolute arsehole. He had a wicked sense of humor and a brilliant mind.

Finding it difficult to concentrate like this, she decided to change subjects. She got back to her inkpot and quill as she said, "I'm so glad you knew this calligraphy spell, Luna. I have pretty sloppy handwriting, and this makes even _my_ letters look uniform and neat, without having to spend ten minutes addressing each envelope."

"Well, it sure beats using a time turner. I got so tired the few times I had to do that."

They worked quietly for the next several minutes. Eventually, Ginny broke the silence and asked something she'd been mulling over for several days now.

"Luna, I've been thinking," she began.

"What is it, Ginny?"

"Well, surely there will be a Stag Night for Neville and his friends. What about for us girls?"

"Like a . . what do they call it when the women go out without the men?"

"A Hen Night. Only we won't just go out and get drunk and dance with strangers. I was thinking of more a private party at one of our houses; you know, have a few of your friends and mine over for games, a casual dinner, a few drinks if you want – maybe even bring in some entertainment. What would you think of that?" she asked brightly.

Luna's eyes widened. "It sounds great, but – but when will I have time to plan all that? I'm booked up almost until the day of the wedding."

Her friend giggled and shook her head. "_You_ don't do any of it! You just show up, ready for fun. Are you in?"

Nodding enthusiastically, Luna said, "Oh yes, that sounds marvelous – thank you!"

They agreed that the night before the wedding would be perfect. "Okay, Luna, 'Hen Night' will be on the 17th of November at 7:00." With a pat on her friend's hand, Ginny added, "Leave everything to me. I promise, we'll have a great time."

"I'm sure we will." Turning back to her calligraphy, Luna finished her tenth envelope. She gave a sigh of satisfaction and said, "There! Now we just have 317 more wedding invitations to go!"

Mrs. Malfoy thought to herself, _Stiff upper lip, Gin._

Later that month, the weather took a decidedly downward spiral. The winds howled as dark, threatening clouds loomed in the sky. Winter was once more on its way, and wishing that it weren't would not stop its impending entrance.

"I _hate_ traveling in a dumb, old carriage," Rhiannon grumbled to her mother. She crossed her slender arms over her chest and stuck her bottom lip out. "Why can't we go through the fireplace, like always?"

"Because, sweetheart, the Flints aren't on the Floo Network."

"Why not?" she whined.

Ginny sighed. "I told you before, it's for the safety of Marky, Emmy, and Horatio's daddy. His job is dangerous. He arrests bad wizards and witches, and he can't take any chances that one of them might get into his home and try to hurt his family."

That seemed to appease the impatient youngster for the moment. Still, she exhaled loudly as she looked out the window. Finally, the rain clouds released their burden, falling in a slow, steady beat on the carriage. The sway of the ride and the pitter-patter on the roof soon lulled Rhiannon to sleep.

They stopped with a jerk, indicating that they had arrived at their destination: the home of Marcus and Millicent Flint. The jostling of the carriage woke Lucas from his nap, and Rhiannon's eyes popped open as if on cue. Intent on enjoying as much of this afternoon with her friends as possible, she jumped to her feet.

One of the female servants was waiting just outside the carriage, holding out a brolly meant to keep the little girl dry. But Miss Malfoy flew out of the door and made a beeline for the house. The woman chased after her in hot pursuit, but the child got away too quickly; by the time she reached the door to the house, her cloak was soaking wet. The frustrated servant put the brolly over her own head and scoffed to herself, fearing Mrs. Flint's rebuke.

"Rhiannon!" the girl's mother called. Then she told the servant, "It's not your fault. Really, I can perform a drying charm on her when I get there." She scooped Lucas up in her arms and said, "Come on, Mummy's big boy. Let's go see Marky and Emmy."

The growing boy wriggled to get out of his mum's grasp. He had been attempting to walk on his own for the past few weeks and was becoming impatient with being held, which he seemed to equate with 'being held back'.

"All right, all right," his mother said as she relented and set him down on the pavement. With their brolly overhead, she held his hand and carefully guided him so he would miss most of the puddles and, hopefully, make it to the house without skinning his knees.

When they reached the front door and went inside, Ginny said, "Hello!"

The older children, who ranged in age from two and a half to seven, were already busy playing with Lucas's sister. She had such an engaging personality – and to be truthful, she was a little on the bossy side – that other children, even older ones, would often follow her lead.

Watching them play together was a rather comical sight. Horatio, the eldest, was evidently experiencing some accidental magic; every time he sneezed, his four-year-old sister's hair would stand up on end as if it were full of static. A little frightened at first, Emmy shuddered, but when she saw that Rhiannon was laughing and begging Horatio to do that to _her_ hair, the little girl smiled and screamed with delight.

Millicent greeted, "Good afternoon, Ginny. I'm so glad you could make it. I'll have Bernice warm up more tea." Turning all her focus to the toddling Lucas, she asked sweetly, "And who is _this_ handsome, little man?"

Ginny laughed as she removed her cloak and handed it to the waiting house-elf. "I know – walking already! Or trying to. But he is almost a year old, if you can believe it. And he's strongly motivated: he has a big sister he's been dying to chase around the nursery."

Pansy came in from the next room, teacup in one hand, a scone in the other. "He's just precious, Ginny. He gets cuter every day." Although she had no family of her own, she taught children who were not old enough to go to Hogwarts, so she was very comfortable with little ones.

"Thank you, Pansy. Now if you'll excuse me, ladies, I must visit the loo. The carriage ride seemed longer and bumpier than normal."

At times, Ginny was amazed how much the last few years had changed Pansy and some of the other Slytherins who had befriended her. But as Voldemort's side had so many casualties and his followers were treated very harshly, switching one's allegiance had become very common near the end of the last battle. The Dark Lord was reportedly still around, but no one knew exactly where. And as there was no apparent Death Eater activity, a few people thought that they were deep in hiding, afraid to come out. But the popular belief was that his most devoted servants were either dead or locked away in Azkaban.

When Draco had first introduced his bride to his former housemates, Ginny was leery of them. It took some time for them to accept one another on a social level. But when he died, things quickly changed. And since she was now at odds with her own family and most of her old friends, she treasured these new friendships.

In the parlor, Pansy watched Emmy as she gave Lucas one toy after another until he was quite overwhelmed. He started to cry, but the little girl reassured him it was okay. "They're just toys," she said.

As a teacher used to dealing with young children, Pansy was in her element. She told Emmy, "You've given him too many. Give him that stuffed silver dragon – yes, that one, the one he likes – choose two more, and put all the rest back."

"Okay, Auntie."

Millicent said nothing as this all transpired; instead, she watched Lucas with keen interest.

Pansy said, "Millie? You seem a thousand miles away. What is it?"

"I was just noticing something about Ginny's boy."

"What is it?" she asked as she stirred a bit more honey in her tea and licked the excess off her finger.

"Well, maybe it's just me but – he doesn't really _look_ like Draco, does he?"

Stunned, Pansy blinked. "What? He looks exactly like him; he's got gray eyes, pale blonde hair, light skin – he's even getting that _Malfoy_ look about him."

"Yes, but—"

"What?" Pansy hissed, thinking she heard Ginny coming back down the hallway.

"I don't know. He just . . seems to favor Lucius more than . . . his dad. Have you ever seen that with your students?"

She hedged, "Well, certain features do sometimes skip a generation or two, especially gifts for a particular kind of magic. Why?"

Millicent frowned. "Ohhh, I just—"

That was when Mrs. Malfoy returned; the other two witches fell silent. More tea was being brought in by the house-elf, and warm biscuits were on the tray. "Ohh!" Pansy protested when she saw them. "I didn't know they were making more biscuits! I already had two scones, and my new evening dress will _never_ fit me by two weeks from Saturday if I don't stop now."

"I know exactly what you mean," Ginny said sympathetically. "It's been a constant struggle for me ever since I had Rhiannon." She sat down, raised her cup of unsweetened tea to her lips, and politely declined the elf's offer of a biscuit with a whispered _'No, thank you.'_

She turned to Pansy and asked, "So, you're going to the wedding? Are you bringing anyone special?"

Pansy's face reddened. "Well, I _was_ rather hoping that Vincent would escort me." Millicent looked at her with her mouth hanging open, but she seemed not to notice and went on. "That's why I'm here today, if you take my meaning. He's bringing his sons over to play with this lot," she said, making a large, sweeping motion with her hand. "I was just thinking that since their mum left, he might want a new woman. I mean – a mother figure, for the boys. And since his ex-wife _has_ remarried, and Daniel already knows me from his school," she added with a hopeful shrug, "I hoped he might . . think of me."

"What surprises me is how much of a social event this wedding is turning out to be," Ginny remarked.

Pansy gasped. "Are you kidding? When it comes to plants, Neville Longbottom is the one of the chief suppliers – not to mention, the foremost expert on what constitute 'quality ingredients' for potions in the entire region. His products are definitely top-shelf."

"Well, I _had_ heard that Neville had met with some success, but he and Luna are both so . . unassuming and humble, I guess I just never knew how much."

"He's loaded, honey," Mrs. Flint said flippantly. Facing her oldest friend in the world, she asked her, "But Pansy – _Vincent?_ Are you sure that's what you want?"

She blushed furiously. "Well, there's practically no one else around that my parents approve of. That's why I'm not married yet – the last man I fell for was a . . a mudblood!" When Millicent gasped, Pansy snipped, "Well, how was **I** to know? They don't wear flashing signs to advertise it! And Daddy forbade me to go through with it," she sobbed as she brought her hands to her face, "unless I wanted t-to be completely written out of his will!" Ginny set her tea down and patted her shoulder.

"But your teaching salary—" she began.

Pansy scoffed, "It's a pittance. I only stay on 'cause I love the kids."

By now, the children had all but stopped playing and were looking up at the women with much curiosity. Rhiannon's mum told her that Miss Parkinson had a headache but that she would be fine. "Go back to your games, children," she whispered. When the girl tried to nose her way in, her mother gave her a stern look that she knew meant, _'Not now.' _

Just then, the last expected guests rang the bell. Pansy sniffed once or twice as she wiped her nose on her monogrammed handkerchief. Millicent discretely threw a quick 'perk-me-up' spell to clear the tinge of redness off her friend's cheeks and out of her eyes. She looked as bright as if she had a nice nap from which she had woken feeling refreshed.

"Auntie Millie!" an enthusiastic young lad shouted as he ran up to her. Throwing his chubby little arms as high as they would go, he grabbed her around the waist and hugged her tightly. "I've missed you, Auntie Millie." He turned to his school teacher and said, "Good afternoon, Miss Parkinson."

"Good afternoon, Daniel," she greeted her young student formally. "And Luther. I see you've brought your daddy as well." Looking up at him with soft eyes, Pansy said, "Hello, Vincent. How are you?"

He looked away nervously. "F-fine, Pansy. Yourself?"

"Splendid, thanks." An awkward moment or two passed between them; Millicent tried to make herself and Ginny scarce.

"Ginny," she said, trying to sound nonchalant, "didn't you say you needed help finding the right entertainment for the Hen Night for Luna?"

Catching her drift, she nodded. "Oh yes, I do. Do you have any ideas?"

"I've got just the thing – come on." The two witches scurried into the next room.

Daniel and Luther stood there, wide-eyed, waiting for their father to say something. He looked down at his boys; sounding a bit exasperated, he shooed them off with a gruff, "Go on and play!" They wasted no time.

He turned his attention once more to Pansy. "Look, I – uh, was wondering if . . er, that is, if you wanted to, um, go to Neville's and – w-what's that girl's name again?"

"Luna Lovegood?" she prompted.

"Yeah, Luna Lovegood." He hesitated then continued awkwardly. "Their wedding – w-would you mind going with . . with me? That is, if-if you're not going with anyone else. Assuming if you _are_ planning to go to it—"

"Yes, Vincent. I would love to go with you."

His mouth fell open as he blinked disbelievingly. "That's bloody fantastic," he finally said. "The wedding's at 2, right? I'll, uh, meet you at your place, say around 12 – er, no – 1:15?" She nodded with excitement, and her cheeks flushed. He swiftly took her hand and kissed it clumsily. Hearing the children giggle in the background, he cleared his throat and barked, "Where can a fellow get some tea and a biscuit around here?"

For the rest of the afternoon, the children played the games they imagined; in between tackling trolls, slaying dragons, and saving fairy princesses, they fought, cried, laughed, and behaved like all children do. By 3:30, most of the younger ones were all done in. Ginny got ready to take her leave, and Vincent offered to escort Pansy home. Both parents gathered up their children and prepared to go. As Ginny bundled up Lucas in his cap and winter cloak, Millicent grabbed Pansy by the hood of her cloak and hissed secretively, _"Come here."_ They snuck through the kitchen and into a narrow hallway.

"What is it, Millie?"

She smirked and said, "Well, first off – congratulations on nabbing Vincent. He's sure to be putty in your hands before the end of the month. I remember when you and Draco . . well, that's water under the bridge."

Pansy shrugged. "I think Vincent and I could be happy together. We'll just have to see."

"What I really wanted to talk to you about is the entertainment for that party for Luna Lovegood. I recommended Ginny go with—" She stopped and looked around to make sure there were no little ones within earshot. Pansy raised an eyebrow, her lip curled in anticipation.

"Do you remember that hot little number we had at our first post-Hogwarts sleepover?"

"Millie, no! Not that man who uses the . . . what was that charm called?"

"The Veil of Passion," her friend whispered. "It'll be great. We'll find out who's caught Ginny's eye since her husband's gone. And if Granger – _Mrs._ Potter – shows up, we'll see if it's really Fred Weasley who gets her hot. I'd put my Galleons on his brother, Ron; if you ask me, there's always been something between him and her."

Pansy's face was one of mild shock. "A-and Ginny saw no problem with any of this?"

"Well, I may have left a _few_ details out about his repertoire." She sighed. "But . . once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin, eh luv?"

Her friend snickered. "You are so bad, Millie. But it will be lots of fun!"

Suddenly, a loud burst came from the front of the house. It sounded like someone had kicked the door in. Millicent and Pansy ran from their hiding spot to rejoin the others. When they got there, Marcus was sitting in his chair in the parlor. His face was white as a sheet; he was shaking and practically hyperventilating.

Vincent was on one side of the chair, and Ginny was on the other. She was attempting to calm him down by stroking his back and talking softly to him. Millicent flew to him and pushed Ginny out of the way. Taking her place at her husband's side, she asked with genuine concern, "Darling, what is it?"

He shuddered. He could barely speak, but finally, words started to come out of his quivering lips.

"We, me and my men . . " He paused, and his face looked as if what he was about to say was painful.

"Yes?" his wife urged.

"We found Snape's body."

End of Chapter

Notes: Kind of a short chapter this time. It was just the best point to break it up. But stay tuned; more is on the way, maybe even **two** more chapters by year's end! They are plotted out on paper and just need to be fleshed out a bit more then polished.

Thanks for reading – and remember, reviews are known to inspire! :-D

P.S. Thank you, Owyn, for writing such a thoughtful review of Chapter 7. I appreciate your feedback, and it's nice to know you find it entertaining and suspenseful. There won't be too much more muggle influence in it, so don't worry; it will be mostly magical, as all good HP fanfic should be. :-)


	10. Chapter 9

Author's Notes: All right, another chapter! The action picks up right where Chapter 8 ended. Thank you, Fyrechild, for the beta read. And thank you to all who have read and reviewed so far.

**_Mala Fide: In Bad Faith - Chapter 9_**

Despite the pounding rain, the carriage practically flew home from the Flints'. It was too horrible to be true; she was distraught and had to talk to Lucius – she didn't know why, but she needed to see him. All she was knew was that he could help her cope with the terrible loss of yet another friend.

Ginny struggled to maintain a calm exterior in front of her young children. She didn't want to distress them any further than the scene in Marcus and Millicent's parlor had. All the children, even the seven-year-old, were confused and somewhat scared. The older ones wondered who Snape was, and why he was so important to these grown-ups. Was he one of their daddies, or maybe an uncle? What did Mr. Flint mean, Rhiannon had asked, they had found his body? Her mother, who was crying, shushed her quickly; after a few tearful hugs all around, she gathered her little ones to her and left.

Bursting through the imposingfront door of the Malfoy property, she called, "Lucius?" Two startled house-elves ran up to her. Ginny, sounding rather frantic, commanded, "Sossy! Please see to the children; they're still in the carriage. Toddy, where is Master Lucius? I must speak to him at once!"

Toddy looked at her with huge eyes as she moved past him, removing her outer garments and tossing them aside. The elf stammered, "Missus-? Wh-what is Missus doing at home? Missus can't be home now; she should be at Mrs. Flint's house, so the little mistress and master can play—"

Intent on her goal, she cut right to the chase. "Toddy, I need to see Master Lucius. It's extremely important; is he at home or not?"

"Yes. Yes Missus, he is, but Toddy—"

"Oh, to hell with it!" she grumbled. Storming past the befuddled elf, she barked impatiently, "Is he in his study?"

"P-perhaps," the poor creature stuttered. "Would Missus please wait in Master Lucius's study, while Toddy goes to find out?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "That doesn't make any sense, Toddy. Please, I _need_ to see him; just tell me where he is!"

Remembering his duty, he gathered his wits about him. He snapped his fingers and produced a glass of brandy for her. "Might Missus enjoy a drink?" he offered congenially.

"No, Missus does _not_ want a drink!" she growled in frustration, knocking the brandy snifter off the engraved silver tray he held. "I want to speak with Lucius, you nit!" It was the first time she had ever lost her temper with a house-elf, and it took Toddy by surprise. The younger Mrs. Malfoy had always been very kind to the servants.

Ginny ran down the hallway toward Lucius's study. Her heart in her throat, she spoke the password and thrust the door open. But the room was dark. The candles looked like they hadn't been lit all day.

_That's odd. He said he would have to work this afternoon._

She turned and bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Striding down the hallway with purpose, she was taken aback to see Toddy in front of her once more. He was standing outside Lucius's private chambers and holding up a halting hand, silently ordering that she go no further.

"What is _wrong_ with you, Toddy?"

He laughed, "Wrong, Missus? Why would anything be wrong? Master Lucius is . . he is taking a nap. He does not wish to be disturbed."

The elf began to fidget; Ginny pushed him aside and reached for the door handle. When she touched it, a shock coursed through her hand and up to her arm, the force of it knocking her back. She propped herself up on one elbow then slowly rose to her feet.

The elf stepped back as he apologized. "Toddy is very sorry, Missus, but it was Master's strict orders that if you should come back—"

Suddenly, a low, guttural groan emitted from the room. A few seconds later, a woman's voice moaned loudly. Ginny froze. He was . . making love to a woman. She couldn't imagine who, as almost no one ever visited the manor.

Shunting aside the mild pang of disappointment she felt, she stood there for a minute or two, dumbstruck. Eventually, she snapped out of it and turned to go. But she made it less than ten feet away before she heard the hinges creak; not wanting to be caught spying, yet unable to resist turning back to see who came out, she dove behind a suit of armor.

Seeing herself emerge from Lucius's room, she fainted.

* * *

Her other self turned at the sound of the clanging armor. She screamed and began pounding on the door that had just closed behind her. She jiggled the handle desperately; the shocking spell had been removed, but even worse, she was locked out. She begged softly, "Please, please—" 

At last, the barrier swung open. Lucius stood there staring at her with narrowed eyes. "Ginevra?" he asked cautiously.

"N-no, sir; it is Nicolette. She is . . " She broke down, unable to continue.

Lucius's steely gray eyes flared. Catching sight of what had unnerved her, he gasped. _"Shit!"_ He ran to Ginny's unconscious body and hovered over her for a moment, his mind racing as he weighed his options. Nicolette had taken another dose of Polyjuice Potion not 15 minutes before, so she would not change back for quite some time. Unsure what to do, she just stood there, crying.

He finally snarled impatiently at the sobbing girl, "Go to your room. I'll take care of this – _disaster._" When she did not respond immediately, he shouted, "Go! _Now!"_

Nicolette nodded and ran down the hallway, hot tears spilling over her borrowed ginger lashes. She hated it when she disappointed him, even if it wasn't really her fault. How was she to know that Ginny would be standing right there? Wasn't she supposed to be gone until almost dinner time?

Toddy began giving his master a brief account of what had happened since the young lady had arrived home. Lucius, however, was too distracted to notice and interrupted, "Move her to my room! No, wait – take her to _her_ room, quickly!" Toddy responded immediately, levitating her to her room down the hallway and onto the bed. With a wave of his wand, the wizard was once more dressed in his day clothes. Then he met the little servant in Ginny's room. Once Lucius made sure that she would remain unconscious for several more minutes, he closed the curtains and lit a few candles. Then he sat down in her bedside chair and quietly watched her.

Meanwhile, the house-elf lingered quietly, expecting some form of punishment for failing in his task. But none came. Thinking he might actually escape unscathed, he finally bowed and asked politely, "Is there anything else Master requires of Toddy?"

"No. You may go," he said, mesmerized, his eyes never leaving Ginny's placid face.

The relieved servant wasted no time. Yet when his back was turned, he shuddered when he heard a curse – one of the many he was familiar with – being hissed in his direction. Feeling like a knife had been thrust into his bony spine, Toddy crumpled to his knees. Eventually, Lucius relented; lowering his wand, he sneered through clenched teeth, _"Never let that happen again."_

"Yes, sir," Toddy murmured. It was a struggle for him to speak at all. Momentarily weakened by the spell, he was unable to leave by use of his own magic, so he stood up and limped away, closing the door behind him. The wizard took no more notice of him.

Instead, he studied Ginny's face; the glow of the candles made her look even more beautiful than her double had as she had lain nude and spread-eagle for him across his satin sheets. Watching her as he was now – lying in her own bed, her auburn tresses spilling delicately over the pillow – he almost convinced himself that it really _was_ her who had spent the last two hours giving herself to him and pleasuring him so completely. And even though Nicolette had satisfied him physically, he could feel that fire building in him once more.

_Have patience,_ he told himself.

As he watched Ginny slowly inhale and exhale in a peaceful rest, he wondered what had upset her. He recalled what he'd read in her hospital file regarding the effects of Tom Riddle's Diary on her psyche. Had she been thinking about it again? Another flashback, perhaps?

He briefly considered delving into her mind to see why she had rushed home so recklessly, despite a bumpy carriage ride through the wind and rain. All Toddy had said was something about her looking horrified, but she hadn't said what was wrong – only that she needed to see his master. She was adamant that she . . see _him._

She was starting to need him. A smirk graced his thin lips.

_Perfect._

The fire within him flared once more; he could feel the room getting warmer. Gently lifting a few strands of her hair, he rubbed them between his fingers and admired their unique shade. He leaned toward to her then brought more of the silky strands to his face, inhaling their floral scent.

The urge to go further was overwhelming.

He touched her face tenderly then traced her cheek softly with his fingers and palm then rubbed his thumb across the lips he had yearned for. Bending down lower, he touched his lips to hers, kissing her lightly. His tongue faintly tasted of the outer edges of her lips and wished she would open them just a bit more . . Although her eyes were still closed, she unknowingly responded, her mouth opening a fraction of an inch. He pressed his advantage and explored her with slow, languid kisses. Knowing he would have to stop soon, he reluctantly pulled away.

_Now for the Memory Charm, _he thought. Having her remember that she actually _saw_ herself leaving his room would be more than disastrous.

"_Obliviate."_

Next he conjured a bowl, rather like a pensieve, only it was empty and not nearly as deep, and it was shaped like a crescent moon. He withdrew a box from the front pocket of his robes and emptied the powdery contents into the bowl. With a flick of his wand, it turned into an amber liquid and started to bubble and release wafts of steam. A layer of fog soon crept around the room.

After waiting five minutes for the brew to settle, he carefully took out what looked like a potion bottle, only the contents were not for drinking. In fact, if the bottle was tipped over, the liquid would stay level and not pour out. He removed the cork and took a long, slender dropper out of his other pocket. He put in three drops in quick succession and waited; then, very slowly and carefully, he added two more drops. After waiting for just over a minute, he repeated the first step. Then he closed the bottle and stowed it and the dropper away.

He murmured the ancient words to the Dreamweaver Charm, which roughly translated to, _"Let me visit you in your dreams and shape what you see."_ The moment he uttered the last word of the charm, the moon-shaped bowl vanished from the table and the fog cleared. Suddenly becoming fully alert, Ginny jumped up with a start.

"Oh, Lucius, thank Merlin you're here!" She grabbed for her wand and Conjured a glass of water. Her mouth tasted odd, like she had been drinking some sort of liquor. She took a long drink; once she Banished the glass, she put one hand on her stomach and the other on her head. "I feel strange. I must have been out longer than I thought."

"Well," he said, "with that nasty spill you took on the rug in the hallway, I'm surprised you don't have a concussion."

She sighed then laughed weakly. "Well, that explains why my backside is killing me. Can you have Nicolette bring me something for it?"

"I'm afraid not. Nicolette has taken the rest of the afternoon off. She had some personal errands to tend do." Ginny nodded. He offered to get one of the elves or other servants to bring her whatever she needed, but she didn't say anything more about it.

Lucius asked her, "Did something happen? Toddy said you looked a bit agitated when you came home."

"Oh, Lucius – it's terrible." Her lip was trembling as if she were fighting to hold back the tears. "Snape . . He-he's dead." Like a dam had burst, she began to cry.

"No," he breathed. His eyes fell shut as his face contorted in pain. "Are you sure?" When she nodded again, he asked her, "How did it happen? I mean, how did you hear of it?"

"Marcus Flint told us. He and a few of his men found the body of a wizard in his 40's. A few routine tests, and they were certain it was him. Marcus was very upset."

"They _found_ him? Where did they find him? What do they think happened to him?" he asked, greatly concerned. He and Severus had been friends for many years.

Her tears finally abating, Ginny looked up at him vacantly. "W-what?"

"I asked you, what do they think happened to him? Was it a curse, was he strangled – was he ill?"

"Marcus wasn't at liberty to say," she replied flatly. "They may have an inquest and a . . a hearing, so he couldn't—"

She paused again and wiped her face and nose. "I'm frightened, Lucius," she whispered.

He gave her a puzzled look and asked her, "Why?"

"Well . . Severus had been here. The manor had become one of the places he frequented." She could see in his eyes that he didn't quite catch her meaning, so she tried to elaborate.

"He visited here often, while you were – away. Then shortly after you came back, his visits just stopped. There may have been one or two more owls, but then, nothing. Narcissa and I both feared that something bad had happened to him. He was such a dear friend to both of us, but I-I've never heard from him since, not even when Narcissa died. It was just . . so strange."

Closing her eyes, she put a hand to her forehead and said with finality, "And I _certainly_ don't want to talk to Aurors in any official capacity – least of all, that smug little prick, Edmund Goodspeak."

Lucius took her hand and patted it gently, saying, "But my dear, even if you are asked to go in for questioning, or are called to testify, why should you be afraid? Surely, you know nothing about it, so why should it trouble you?"

"I just don't feel like talking with them; I don't trust them," she said, looking sullen.

"But you trust Marcus Flint?" he asked dryly.

"That's different. His wife and I are friends. Besides, I – he wasn't in that department back . . back then."

He raised one eyebrow. "So _that's_ what this suspicion is all about. Don't worry; if you're called in, I'll go along with you, for moral support," he said, giving her his most charming smile.

Relieved to hear that she wouldn't have to go through this alone, she sighed and smiled back at him. They talked for a few more minutes until Ginny, utterly exhausted, hung her head. It wasn't even dark outside, but she felt completely drained. "I'm sorry, Lucius; I'm dreadfully tired. Would you mind if I forgo joining the family for dinner, just this once?"

"No, not at all," he assured her as he stood up and straightened his chair. "I'll have the nanny look after the children for the rest of the day, and I'll see them off to bed myself. I have a feeling that Rhiannon is bursting to tell her grandpa all about her day with her little friends."

She smiled again. "I'm sure you're right. Good night, Lucius."

He bent down and kissed her chastely on the forehead. "Good night, sweetheart. Pleasant dreams." Then he went to have dinner with the children.

* * *

It proved to be one of the most peculiar nights Ginny could ever remember having. Dreams the likes of which she had not had in ages . . . visions of herself locked in a passionate embrace with Draco; he loved her as if he were starving for her, as if he couldn't get enough of her. 

It had been so long, so terribly long, that she had nearly forgotten the sensations he was making her feel. When he touched her in a certain way, all at once, her passion stirred, then ebbed only to rise again, taking her to even more dizzying heights. It felt so . . incredibly _real_, as if he was actually joined with her once more, even though she knew that never could be. She longed to savor it, make the dream last, delay her waking as long as possible, and then treasure it until time took it away from her.

What made the dream so amazing was that it seemed to have no end. Normally, a really good dream, the kind that a dreamer wishes would never end, always does so, and far too abruptly, only to be forgotten except for tiny strands of images which fade shortly after waking. Trying to recall the dream later then becomes rather like chasing after a fairy that has gone into a deep field thick with wild flowers that the dreamer cannot see through or over.

But this was no ordinary dream.

Instead of moving to completely new settings with different people, it stayed focused on the lovers. The dream only shifted to other, more intimate scenes of them – and the later it got, the less clothes and more groping there was. She thought he looked different in miniscule ways; his hair had grown slightly longer and his features more distinguished, his lines more prominent.

But the strangest part was that his kisses tasted mildly of brandy, reminding her of Harry's on that fateful night, nearly two years ago – even in her dream, the memories of it made her shudder. When Draco had held her even closer, the simple gesture made her forget everything else. And although they never actually _did_ anything more than stroke and caress each other, Ginny felt incredibly aroused the entire time.

Awakening slowly, she eased out of the dream, hoping it would not be lost into slender glimpses of imaginings that she could not possibly hope to grasp at or recall in a few short minutes. But the dream had been so powerful, its images so sharp, that they did not slip away just yet. She took a moment to relish in its pleasures, trying to relive the intense climax she was certain she'd had. She didn't know if such a thing was possible for women, but judging by the dampness of her knickers – well, apparently, it was. An involuntary smile flitted across her face.

Ginny desperately wished she had a pensieve to store these precious memories. True, she could pick one up when she went to Diagon Alley later in the week – she had to get some party supplies for next week – but until then, she decided she should jot everything down that she could remember . . every detail, every smell and taste . . . before she lost even a moment of the magic.

Not sure where either of her diaries were, she Summoned some parchment from the top of her cluttered desk and then furiously began scribbling down the entire dream, from start to finish, so that not one detail was left out. As the sun came up over the horizon and into her window, she set down her quill and gazed at the words. Reading it made her skin tingle all over.

There was one small thing that didn't quite fit, but she chose to ignore it: Draco had never drunk brandy in his life.

* * *

When Brian arrived at Saint Mungo's the following Monday morning, there was a message waiting for him at his receptionist's desk. It was from Stella, and it said yes, he could come to her flat after work on Thursday. She would be happy to offer him dinner and help him research a case, one that had him completely baffled. He knew she had a vast wealth of knowledge that he would have almost no access to – and even if he did, he would have no idea how to find it. 

Trying to be flirtatious, Nadine bent over her desk, batted her lashes at him, and cooed, "Good morning, Brian." She wore a rather revealing peach sweater made of cashmere. Even though it was nice and very expensive, he barely noticed it, or the ample cleavage she had hoped the new garment would bring to his attention. His nose glued to the chart in his hand, he grunted in place of an actual greeting then shut himself in his office. She gritted her teeth in frustration; would he _ever_ notice her? And this sweater had not come cheap!

Disappointed by his lack of response, she slammed her desk drawer shut and decided to get started on that bloody filing she absolutely despised doing. If she was going to be miffed all morning, she might as well be doing something productive. With filing, there was also added benefit of slamming cabinet drawers shut with a flourish, muffling or disguising the sound if needed. At least that way, he would know she was angry.

_Maybe._

Nadine took her wand and quickly gathered all the files from around her office that had not made their way back into the drawers. She was surprised to see that there were at least 50 or 60 of them. Wondering how she'd let _that_ happen – and how it was that Brian had not rebuked her for it – she scoffed. _What is **wrong **with him?_ she sniffed to herself. _Is the man gay or just blind?_

She began her filing, shutting the drawers as noisily as she dared, yet holding back somewhat, for fear of looking like a petulant child.

_Or does he have his head so far up Ginny Malfoy's arse that he doesn't even notice I **have** one! And a rather cute one, at that! He's like a ruddy dog in heat when she comes around . . ._

The irritated receptionist suddenly noticed that the file she had in her hands was none other than Ginny's. She clicked her tongue. "I mean, what's so special about _her?_" she said aloud, turning the file over. "Cor, her file must be three inches thick. Of course, I would know; that copying spell took longer than any other I've had to do since I got here—"

"Nadine?" Brian called, sticking his head out his door. She swallowed, wondering nervously how much of her grumbling he had heard, and whether she had said most of it inside her head or if she had actually vocalized it.

"Yes?" she answered, slightly nervous.

"Have you seen Mrs. Malfoy's file? I thought I saw it just the other day, but now I can't find it."

"As a matter of fact, I was just about to put it away. I had it out a few days ago, to copy it for her father-in-law; remember when he dropped by the office?"

Brian, feeling a bit lost, shook his head. "What? Her father-in-law?" On seeing the size of the file she was holding out to him, he caught her meaning. "Oh – oh no, I don't mean _Ginny's_ file; I meant Narcissa's."

"Oh. Okay." Nadine's cheeks reddened at her faux pas. She quickly pulled the late Mrs. Malfoy's file and handed it to him, taking the other one back and stowing it away.

He thanked her then said, "Nadine – that's a very pretty sweater. Is it new?"

Blushing once more, she smiled and giggled. "Yes, Brian, it is. Do you like it?"

He nodded and gave her a lop-sided grin as his eyes drifted down her front appreciatively. "It's very nice." The healer started to walk back into his own office when something she'd said struck him. "Did you say . . you had _copied_ that file for Mr. Malfoy?"

Not sure what he was getting at, Nadine started to take a rather defiant stance. "Well, you did ask me to," she said with a soft laugh.

His eyes drew wide, and his mouth dropped open.

"Nadine," he began slowly, "I meant for you to copy _Narcissa's_ file. His late wife. What you gave him – th-that's confidential hospital information. He had no right to anything in Ginny's file. Much of that was from her childhood."

Her breath caught in her throat. "But you said . . " Her voice trailed off.

"I said Mrs. Malfoy; I only assumed you knew which one. I mean, God's sake, why would he be interested in seeing _her _file—"

His hand loosened on Narcissa's file, and parchment scattered to all corners of the office. Ignoring the mess, he rushed back to his office and shut the door. As he did, Nadine pleaded with him, "I'm sorry, Brian! Please don't fire me – it was an honest mistake!"

Brian felt a quick note to Ginny was in order. She had to know that all might not be well at the manor. But he was leery of sending a traditional delivery, as incoming owls were sometimes screened. And obviously, he couldn't give it to Lucius.

Stepping out of his office once more, he apologized. "Nadine, I-I'm sorry I was cross with you."

"S'all right," she replied, looking away and pretending to concentrate on her filing so he wouldn't notice her tear-stained cheeks.

"Look, I, er – was just wondering . . . if you knew of anyone who is a friend of Ginny's that I could trust to deliver a private note to her?"

"Isn't she friends with your cousin?"

He bit his lip. "Well, I suppose I could . . but I won't be seeing her for three more days, and owls . . sort of, uh, freak her out. This is rather urgent."

"I'm sorry, I don't know anyone else," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Then he remembered Frank and Alice Longbottom. Their son still came to visit them, after all these years, every single Tuesday.

Brian decided to visit the Closed Ward tomorrow afternoon.

"That's all right, Nadine."

He started to go but then stopped and assured her, "Don't worry, you won't get sacked. I'll work it out with Ginny. I . . I _think_ she'll be okay with it. She doesn't seem to have any animosity toward Lucius."

_At least not yet,_ he hoped secretly.

* * *

The weather that afternoon turned out to be very fine. Lucius got home early, so he and Ginny took the opportunity to enjoy a leisurely horseback ride. As they went along, they discussed whether they should hire a tutor for Rhiannon next year or send her to a school like the one Pansy worked for, what Ginny planned to get the children for Christmas, and if the family should take a small trip at New Years. 

When their conversation had reached a natural lull, the unlikely pair rode on through the deepening woods in comfortable silence. The lower branches of the surrounding trees eventually formed a bowing arch. To avoid their robes getting caught on them, Lucius and Ginny rode very close together.

At length, he broke the silence. "So, is everything ready for the big wedding? It's less than two weeks away now."

All that remained, she said, was the fitting of the wedding party's robes and the rehearsal. "And, of course, the Hen Night."

"Oh, so the men are having a Stag Night, and the ladies want their own night on the town?"

"Actually," Ginny corrected, "we decided it would be better if we had it at one of the ladies' homes."

Lucius agreed that it would be safer and graciously offered them the use of the manor for their party. Surprised, she smiled at his thoughtfulness. "Oh, would you, Lucius? That would be wonderful!"

Just then, Ginny had to duck her head and lean toward him to steer clear of a low-lying branch; as she did, she reached across the small distance between them and patted his hand then squeezed it affectionately. He turned his hand over to return the gesture, only instead of letting go, he held on. Her heart skipped a beat; she didn't let go, either. He wove his fingers through hers. Moving slowly along the well-defined path, her hand felt more comfortable in his. Soon, she felt . . peaceful.

She asked out of the blue, "Has anyone at the office said anything about Snape?"

"Not much, no," he replied. "Of course, they won't be having his funeral for a while, since there will be a post-mortem examination to determine cause of death."

"I guess that makes the most sense," she murmured as they continued on their stroll. "Still, it was all so sad. I'm sure the students who had been in Slytherin when he was Head of House were very disheartened on hearing the news."

"Naturally. Someone said that Marcus was almost useless in his job today. And if he can't stay focused on his task, then he is better off not coming into work at all."

"Maybe he feels an obligation to the man," Ginny surmised with a shrug. "Perhaps he thinks that by capturing his killer quickly, he can put it all behind him and say to Snape that he did his best."

At this, he pulled on the reins; stopping abruptly, he finally released her hand. He turned so he could look at her full on. "So it wasn't death by natural causes?" he asked, his silvery eyes narrowing. "I thought Marcus didn't say. Or was it that he _couldn't_ say?"

Rolling her eyes, she sighed. "Well, he said he wasn't supposed to say, but . . he did."

"And what do they think happened to him?"

She hesitated at first but eventually relented. "They think he may have been – beaten to death."

"Really," he marveled. "Do they suspect it was a random killing, perhaps by a muggle?"

"I don't know. It may have been some sort of revenge. Marcus didn't say." Suddenly, she started to feel a bit queasy and rubbed her eyes. "I think I'd best go back to the house to lie down before dinner. My head is really starting to pound."

They returned the horses to the stables and went back to the manor. Ginny looked at him then gave him a brief hug; he gently kissed her hand and she excused herself. As she ascended the stairs, Lucius watched her intently until she was out of sight.

_So they think Snape might have been beaten? Interesting._

He walked down the hallway andsnickered silently to himself. _Yes, well, I can see where being Stunned, bound, and then dropped in a well several times might give that impression_.

End of Chapter

Notes: The next chapter will have the Hen Night (find out what happens when you leave a Slytherin in charge of finding the entertainment-!) and much more. :-)

Thanks for reading, and please review!


	11. Chapter 10

Author's Notes: In this chapter, things heat up a bit. ;-)

Fyrechild, thank you for beta reading this. To the rest of you, thanks for hanging in there with me. A review would be appreciated!

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith - Chapter 10**_

"Ginn-neee!!!!" Pansy whined then snorted with laughter as she slapped the redhead on the shoulder. The former Slytherin prefect had already had far too much to drink, even though it was still fairly early. Ginny turned to her, droopy-eyed, looking three sheets to the wind herself. Millicent was tap-dancing on top of the piano that Cho Davies was attempting to play. Some of the witches 'booed' the professional Seeker, but she insisted, "No, I can play! I had lessons when I was a girl," as she kept attempting to play, however badly.

When Daphne Greengrass asked how long she had studied piano, Cho held up three fingers and then fell off the bench laughing. "Three years? And you sound that bad?" Daphne complained.

Cho rolled on her back underneath the bench. "No," she chortled from the floor, "three _lessons!_" She broke into hysterical giggles once more and flopped her arm to the floor, causing Pansy to nearly trip over her as she walked by. Everyone in the vicinity of the piano lost any semblance of dignity and doubled over with laughter, even the stuffy Miss Greengrass, who swore on Merlin's beard she had only had one flute of some very pricey champagne.

Luna watched them all, amused eyes drawn into wide circles and her lips in a goofy grin. The Hen Night was well underway. Giggles and outbursts of hilarity, most of them for no apparent reason other than copious amounts of alcohol, echoed through the nearly-empty ballroom. Lucius was gone for the evening, and the children were in the nursery under the watchful eye of their nanny. Other than the servants, the witches had the house all to themselves.

Suddenly, the lights went dim, and a single spotlight shone at the center of the stage. Millicent stepped off the piano and moved into the solitary light. "Ladies, can I have your attention, please?" she asked, a wicked smirk on her face. Pansy kept snickering then put a finger to her mouth and whispered loudly, _"Shhhh, Millie's talking . . shhhhh,"_ unaware that she was the only one who wasn't heeding her own advice.

"Thank you, Pansy," Mrs. Flint said with a hint of sarcasm. Addressing the group at large, she announced, "Now comes the part we've all been waiting for: this evening's entertainment. And I can promise you, this party is about to get much more interesting than a bunch of witches getting totally pissed; just _how_ interesting . . well, that all depends on you." With those words, she stared at Hermione Granger Potter.

Hermione shuddered slightly. Just being at Malfoy Manor was an uncomfortable experience for her, and she was beginning to think she had made a serious error in judgment. As she sat there asking herself why she had even agreed to come, she wondered if there was any way for her to graciously bow out now, without offending Luna or Ginny – or for that matter, Neville. After all, it was _his_ bloody idea that she go. He thought it was time the old friends buried the hatchet and made up. The bitterness between them had gone on long enough, he'd said.

_Easier said than done,_ she thought as her eyes darted about the room. The house was so cold and foreign to her that it practically made her shiver, despite feeling warmed by the three shots of Firewhiskey she had consumed. Looking at the extravagant surroundings, Hermione wondered, _How can Ginny __**live**__ here? It's so different from the Burrow – literally, night and day, yet she seems quite content . . ._

Momentarily halting her cross-examination of Ginny's lifestyle, she realized that Millicent had stepped back from center stage and was presently giving her wand a good 'swish-and-flick'. A steady rhythm on what Hermione thought sounded like bass drum issued from the stage, although there was no drummer or drum to be seen. The rhythm was somewhere between Burlesque and jazz; a cymbal followed every other beat. Soon, an invisible snare filled in the gaps. Its cadence made her wonder if perhaps a stripper would soon step out from behind that golden curtain and start doing a pole dance.

But to Hermione's surprise, a strikingly handsome wizard with large, deep eyes of smoky topaz and the most kissable lips she had ever seen strolled onto the stage and into the spotlight. She didn't know how, but he took her breath away. Dressed to the nines in expensive black robes lined with scarlet satin, he was so bloody gorgeous, he could have easily passed for Gilderoy Lockhart's much younger brother. A few of the ladies smiled and subconsciously licked their lips.

At last, Millie introduced the handsome young man. "Ladies, please welcome Seymour Cox!" Most of the Slytherin girls clapped and squealed with delight. Pansy stood up, put two fingers in her mouth, and whistled enthusiastically.

Luna, missing the double entendre of the wizard's name, bent over and whispered in Ginny's ear, _"He must be good."_

Ginny's mouth fell open. _What I have gotten myself into? _she thought. With a name like that, she could only guess what his list of 'talents' would include. Turning her head and rolling her eyes, she could see Hermione at the next table over; she was fanning herself with a napkin and looking as like she were desperate to escape, yet unable to look away. Watching the pompous witch's reaction tickled the redhead so much that she decided to just relax and enjoy the show – both on the stage _and_ off.

"Remember, ladies," Millie said as she stepped off the stage and found a place in the crowd, "it's all in fun!"

Seymour magically amplified his voice so he could be heard above the persistent drumbeat and the soft, sensual jazz that had begun playing in the background. "Good evening, my darlings," he said. His voice was smooth as honey; silky and rich, it was pure pleasure in one's ears. Suddenly, the music got so quiet, it seemed to have stopped, and everyone thought he was going to say something else.

Instead, he waved his arms dramatically, and a disco tune, made popular by the wizarding band Stonehenge, started pounding out its loud, steady bass beat. Colored lights, like the ones found in muggle nightclubs, began flashing on and off all around the room. Seymour stood in the spotlight and shook his bum. He began to clap his hands, encouraging his audience and drawing them in.

Somehow, his robes had landed on the floor. He continued dancing to the beat of the music. Moments later, he was down to just a thong, his hips gyrating seductively. Pulses were racing; every eye in the room, including Hermione's, was on his incredible body, curious what he would do with it next.

"How is everyone enjoying the Hen Night?" he asked smoothly as if the dancing hadn't tired him out a bit. The ladies responded excitedly, and Pansy whistled a few more times. Then he called out, "All right, I need someone to join me up on stage. Who's getting married? Is it Luna?"

Several voices shouted at him, "Yes, yes – Luna! Luna Lovegood!!" Someone yelled, "Go on, Luna! Get up there and grab onto that divine arse, you lucky witch!" The bride blushed profusely, while the others squealed and giggled with delight and ancitipation.

"Oh, Luuuu-na," Seymour teased sexily in a singsong voice, "are you out there, love? Can I tempt you to come up on the stage with me? I promise, I don't bite. But I do like to nibble."

By then, even the most reserved guest couldn't help but wonder what exquisite torture the bride would endure in the hands of the sexy entertainer. But Luna wriggled uncomfortably in her chair.

Daphne, dropping all pretense of being bored, jumped up, stood on her chair, and shouted, "Me! _I'm_ Luna!!" A few of her friends laughed. Nearly everyone gasped and insisted that she was definitely _not_ Luna.

Finally, with the help of Ginny, Cho, and even Hermione, the bride was center-stage. Her face as red as a lobster, she stood there nervously next to the practically-naked wizard. The others had had to drag her, and she felt awkward at first. But Luna soon realized the benefits of her position and smiled.

When Seymour gazed at Luna as if she were the most fascinating creature he had ever seen, some in the audience grumbled with envy. "Oooh," he said, "some of these kittens have claws. Sounds like you all need a good dose of anti-jealousy potion."

When he waved his arm in the direction of the other ladies, a narrow silver goblet promptly appeared in front of every witch. The potion inside was a light, transparent beige and bubbled lightly like champagne. The wizard handed a goblet to Luna, pressed it to her lips, and encouraged her to drink up. Turning his head and raising one eyebrow, he eyed the other guests, who quickly drained their goblets as well.

Focusing on Luna once more, he put his arm around her waist and purred, "So you're getting _married_, pet?" She nodded timidly and avoided looking at him. "Going to save yourself for him, are you?" When Luna ducked her head, he grabbed her gently by the chin then kissed her lightly on the cheek but very close to her mouth.

He brushed his lips against her ear and in a whisper so soft it made her shudder, he asked suggestively, _"And you're certain your groom is the __**only**__ man you'll ever want?"_ and licked her earlobe lightly. Starting at her waist, his hand roamed up and down her side and stopped just shy of the lower edge of her right breast. Luna squirmed a little; soon, she started to relax and smile as if she were enjoying herself.

He released his hold on her at once and pushed her gently aside. Waving his hand in front of her, he Conjured what looked like a veil. It wasn't exactly like a bridal veil, per se, as it was made to cover only the face rather than the entire head; it was a flimsy scrap of gossamer, fuschia fabric, about one foot long and just as wide. At the top was a braided gold band with diamond flecks that danced in the light and a crystal comb on each side to hold it in place. Not many of the witches had seen a beautiful and rare magical artifact like this.

Holding the veil out for the audience to examine, he announced, "This, my dears, is the Veil of Passion. Married women may decline to partake, if they wish. But no woman who is single – even divorcees and widows – may say no."

He draped it in front of Luna's face and told her, "Look through the veil, and it will reveal who _you_ want the most." She grinned at him then gently pulled the veil forward over her face. "Go on, Luna; look at me," he prompted. "Who lights your passion?"

She watched Seymour with wondrous eyes as he danced seductively, moving from side to side. A few seconds later, his outline became somewhat hazy, and gradually, she saw him . . _change._ He grew a bit taller and a bit thicker around the middle, but not by much. Then his hair darkened – he was Neville! For a split second, his hair started to turn a slightly different shade, but when her vision cleared, she could see that he was definitely her fiancé. She sighed and laughed to herself.

Taking this to mean that Luna had seen her future husband, Seymour – still looking like Neville in her eyes – reached toward her and carefully withdrew the veil. "Did you like what you saw, my dear?" he whispered. She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, the brides usually do, on a night such as this." He hugged her lightly and confided, _"Try it again in five years, love,"_ then winked and guided her off the stage. Following behind her, he went to choose another witch to enchant with his magic veil.

Luna sat down beside Ginny, who asked her, "What happened, Luna? What was it like?"

The bride just blinked, her mouth hanging open in a silly grin. "I don't know. I – opened my eyes, and he was just . . . Neville."

"What do you mean?"

But Luna only shrugged and gave her a lopsided grin. "You'll just have to see for yourself, Ginny."

The commotion continued all around them as one by one, the ladies tried on the veil. Pansy squealed with delight but wouldn't tell anyone who it was she saw, not even Millicent, who tried to bribe her old friend. She offered to wear the veil herself, tell everyone who it was she saw, _and_ give the struggling teacher a tidy sum of 200 Galleons if she would spill her secrets. Still, Pansy refused.

Hearing Millicent offer to try on the veil, Cho Davies decided she _would_ take a turn at it. She latched on to Seymour's hand and pulled him to her table. He reminded her that she didn't have to do this, saying once more, "Married women can exclude themselves, if they wish." But she insisted. Finally, he relented and pushed the combs into her raven hair then slowly brought the fabric in front of her face.

But the vision she saw wasn't what she expected, and the poor witch screamed in denial. She wasn't exactly terrified, rather in shock. When Seymour reached out to try and calm her, she pushed him away. She didn't even wait for him to remove the veil; instead, she flung it violently across the floor and then burst into sobs as she fled the room. When one of her friends tried to follow her, Cho shook her head and shouted, "No!"

Luna and Ginny wondered why she had gotten so upset. Luna decided that her vision might have been of Cedric Diggory. "Even though she married Roger Davies," she said in a low voice, "none of the Ravenclaw girls believed she ever really got over Cedric's death."

After asking a house-elf to see if Cho would be all right, Seymour moved on to Daphne Greengrass. She smiled the widest of any of them. "Oooh, Ginny, it's your brother!" On hearing this, Hermione's ears pricked up.

Ginny, slightly revolted but curious nonetheless, asked, "Which one?"

Daphne moaned, "The dreamy one."

Pansy wrinkled her nose in disgust. "And who would _that_ be?"

"Ron, of course! Mmm, I've thought he was _hot_ since I first saw him in his Quidditch robes!!"

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. _Ron? Daphne Greengrass thinks Ron is 'hot'?_

"But he can't play the game for shit!" Pansy said bluntly.

"Who cares?" Daphne pursed her lips in a kiss and flirted with 'Ron' as he danced for her.

Millicent couldn't help but notice how all that talk about Ginny's brother had gotten Hermione's back up. She also thought the Gryffindor had been far too quiet this evening and could not resist baiting her. "So tell us, Granger; how is dear Ronnie in bed? Does he have a really big—"

Pansy put her hand over Millie's mouth. "Shhhh, you're embarrassing Ginny! This is her house; show her some ressspect," she slurred as she sloshed yet another drink.

Hermione's eyes widened momentarily, but she didn't dignify Mrs. Flint with an answer. Ginny looked at her former housemate in astonishment, surprised she wouldn't lash out at such a remark. _Too much Firewhiskey to care, I suppose,_ she surmised.

All eyes were now on Harry's widow, so Seymour took the opportunity to put the veil on her. As he did, he hoped he could remember the charm to remove it, should it become entangled in her exceedingly bushy hair.

Hermione winced as he pressed the combs into her hair with what she felt certain was more force than was absolutely necessary. "Go on, my dear," he urged, "who do _you_ see?" Almost as if she were afraid what vision the sexy wizard might inspire for her, she squeezed her eyes shut. When she did, the room began to spin.

Trying to fight the sudden dizzy spell, she cautiously and very slowly opened her eyes. When a red-haired wizard stood where Seymour had been, she laughed nervously. Her ears were ringing from the music, the shouting, and the jeers coming from around the room.

Someone called out, "It had better be Fred Weasley, or there'll be hell to pay—!"

"That is, if Rita Skeeter is to be believed!" another unidentified voice yelled, only to be cheered and cackled at by the Slytherins.

"I'll put 50 Galleons on _Ron_ Weasley!" a third voice chimed in. It too was met with raucous laughter.

The wizard was now down on his knees before Hermione and kissing her hand, moving his lips up her arm, hoping to draw out her lust by exciting her and the crowd even more. In the darkness, she had trouble making out the face – he certainly _looked_ like Fred – but when his nose changed slightly at the last moment and he grew a bit taller and lankier, she shrieked.

"Liar!" she shrieked as she struggled to pull off the veil, insisting, "I do not _want_ to shag Ron Weasley! I'm seeing his _brother_, for heaven's sake!" She tugged at the veil furiously. Only when the comb finally snapped was she able to get it off her head. She shoved it roughly into Seymour's hands, who by then, looked like himself.

He snuggled close to her and hissed, _"The Veil of Passion does not lie. It shows what __**you**__ want it to."_ When she only glared at him, he stood up and said smugly, "Maybe you're sleeping with the wrong Weasley." She shot him a glance, but he just smirked and raised an eyebrow, as if daring her to say something more. Then with a quick _'Reparo'_, he fixed the damaged comb then turned to seek his last victim.

"Ginny Malfoy, you're next. Let's see who _you _fantasize about, what wizard lights your fire . . " He licked his lips and winked at the enraptured crowd. Carefully placing the veil on her head, he pressed the combs into her hair then pulled the fabric forward and over her face. She too closed her eyes, not daring to look at the wizard before her. She wasn't sure if it would be her late husband, Brian Gilpin, or maybe someone else.

"Open your eyes, Mrs. M," Seymour teased with a wicked grin. "Who am I this time?" Some of the witches around her began shouting her name.

Ginny's head was humming and starting to swim as that last drink finally hit her. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she opened her eyes cautiously and looked at the scantily-clad wizard with the smoldering eyes, smoky violet orbs that had surely seduced hundreds of witches over the years . .

At first, the outline she saw was fuzzy and vague, and she couldn't quite tell _who_ he was. His chestnut hair now reached past his shoulders, and it was tied back, maybe – yes, in a black ribbon, and it was much lighter, almost white. _Draco,_ her mind told her. She sighed in relief and relaxed her tense shoulders.

But still . . . that wasn't _really_ what she wanted – to wish for something that could never be. Ginny shut her eyes again and threw her head back, trying to clear her thoughts of him.

For although she had loved him dearly, and always would, she _had_ to stop thinking about him so much, stop dreaming of him . . open her mind to the possibility of seeing someone new. _The children need a father figure in their lives, _she reasoned with herself. _Someone who's here._

_And Merlin's sake, I need to get laid! These erotic dreams I keep having certainly prove that . . ._

Meanwhile, the music was relentless in its driving beat. The other ladies were getting louder and louder; the whole room seemed to be roaring around her.

_I wish those ninnies would quit shouting – I have to concentrate!_

Ginny opened her eyes and was surprised to find that Seymour was on his knees before her and was just starting to remove her shoe. Without looking up at her, he started to kiss her foot. The audience loved it. Relishing the attention his antics were bringing, he went a bit further and sucked on her toes; next, he ran a hand up her leg, stopping just above her knee.

She still hadn't seen his face, yet through the veil's filmy material, she could see that his long hair was still held back in the black ribbon, a stark contrast to the shade of it. When he finally looked up, he flashed her a wickedly sexy grin; his silvery eyes, so like her husband's, were dancing with delight.

She didn't react anything like Hermione had. Nor did she seem shaken, as Cho had been.

No, Ginny seemed . . . _pleased._

Realizing this, Seymour smiled to himself. _ Oh yeah, she sees him – whoever the lucky bastard is_.As he inched closer to her, he thought,_ Time to move in for the kill._

It was all part of the game. Since he got most of his jobs by word of mouth, he always gave his guests one last thrill at the end of his performances to help ensure they would remember him and hopefully recommend him to their friends. The ladies ate it up, and he never went long in between jobs. Besides, by this time in a performance, even the stodgiest old biddies in the crowd were so horny, they would jump right in, screaming his name and tossing their knickers at him like he was Tom Fuck-Me-Please Jones.

After all, it was strictly business.

The wizard leaned forward and fell against Ginny; disregarding the veil, he kissed her desperately, as if the man she desired couldn't help himself. Delirious, she fell completely into the fantasy. She abandoned her fears and threw her arms around him. He looked so incredibly like him – it wasn't until he whispered, _"Ginny,"_ did her brain acknowledge that it wasn't _really _him; he always called her Ginevra.

"Please," she begged softly, stroking his hair, "call me Ginevra, like he does."

As he murmured her given name, he exhaled heavily and held her even closer. Reaching underneath the veil, he touched her hair and lightly caressed her face and chin. The intimacy of these simple gestures jarred her awake from the dream her mind had created. She backed away, carefully withdrew the veil, and handed it to him with a weak grin on her lips. Looking like himself again, Seymour smiled back and thanked her with a slight nod of his head. The other ladies were buzzing with various speculations, but Ginny ignored them all.

"I don't think he likes me that way," she confided. She didn't know why she said that; he was practically a stranger, someone she had known for less than an hour. Still, she felt nonplussed by saying, "It'll never happen."

As if they were old friends, he said to her, "Nonsense. You're a very pretty witch, Ginevra. He'd be a fool not to see that."

"I'll bet you say that to all the witches."

Amid the cheers of his very pleased audience, Seymour stood up. He winked at Ginny and grinned, saying, "Ah, you're onto me now, love."

With a wave of his hand, the veil disappeared, and he was dressed in his formal robes once more. He walked back to the stage, thanked the ladies for their kind attention, and bid them a pleasant evening. Their applause followed him as he left, and he secretly congratulated himself on a job well done.

A few minutes later, Ginny met him in the foyer to pay him the balance of his fee. Once the bill was settled, the two shook hands, and the entertainer left the manor. She turned around and found herself nose to nose with—

"Hermione! Leaving so soon?" The former housemates regarded one another. It was the first time they had been alone in almost two years, and despite the party atmosphere, there was an undeniable tension in the air. When Ginny looked back on the exchange over the next few days, she could only presume it was the alcohol that had enabled the two of them to behave civilly at all.

The older witch cleared her throat nervously. "Yes, I promised Fred I'd go with him to The Burrow before the wedding, so we need to get an early start. And it is 11:00 . . "

"Maybe you should go," the hostess replied rather coldly.

"Yes. Well." Hermione fidgeted then explained, "I'm sorry, Ginny, but I–I'm just not comfortable here. Something feels . . _wrong_. And your father-in-law and I, we have a well-known history of intense dislike, and I-I just need to go."

"Suit yourself, Hermione. You always do," she snipped. When she turned to leave, her ex-friend surprised her as she grabbed by the arm.

"Now look, here, Ginny," she hissed angrily. "I've tried to be polite by coming to this thing in the first place. I only did it to make Luna happy. You know I would never set foot in Malfoy Manor, or rub elbows with all those . . _Slytherins!_ Honestly, why couldn't this have been done somewhere else, and without them? You know what they must think of me and _my kind,_" she mocked.

Mrs. Malfoy scoffed at her attitude. "Somewhere else? This is my _home,_ and I like it here. Lucius was kind enough to allow us free reign here for one night; naturally, you would try to ruin everything by taking it as a personal attack on your heritage!"

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she gritted her teeth. "Good night, Ginny. See you at the wedding."

A rush of cold November air blew in as the door slammed shut behind her. Ginny balled her fists and stomped her foot in frustration. _"Why did she even have to come?"_ she muttered to herself.

She rejoined the others in the ballroom, trying to forget the little tiff and focus on having fun. Apparently inspired by Seymour and his magical gyrating hips, Daphne was using the floor lamp to do a pole-dance. All things considered, she wasn't half-bad, until she pulled the lamp down to the floor and smashed it.

But when no one bothered to do a _Reparo_ or even look up, she thought that maybe it was getting just a bit late and suggested that the friends call it a night. The idea was met with grumbles and weak moans of protest, but only a couple of the ladies actually rose to get ready to leave.

No longer in a party mood, Ginny hugged Luna good night, thanked Millicent for arranging the entertainment, and told everyone else they were welcome to stay the night. "Just call for Toddy or Shilla to prepare a room for you. We've got dozens," she added tiredly as she trudged toward the stairs.

*****

The next day, dawn seemed to arrive earlier than normal. Before she knew where the morning had gone, Ginny was getting ready to take part in the largest, most stunning wedding the wizarding world would see all season. At least, that's what The Daily Prophet had said.

Ginny sat in her low back vanity chair and leaned toward the mirror. Charmed curlers held her ginger locks in place. Working with a blend of modern beauty products and a spot of good old-fashioned magic, she sought to minimize her flaws and enhance her natural beauty. She applied a soft layer of make-up to make her freckles less noticeable and her eyes more prominent. She had never really liked that her eyes were so small and her brows lacked any definition. A couple of well-placed charms took care of that.

Rhiannon, who was to be the flower girl for the ceremony, had been ready since lunchtime. With as much patience as she could manage, the excited five-year-old alternated between standing still to watch her mother make herself look prettier and walking as she talked to her baby brother. She spoke to him as if the little tyke understood every word she was saying, and as she did, his curious eyes followed her everywhere. She told him that being a flower girl was a really big job and that only big kids got to do it.

When she got bored with that, she danced and twirled around in her fluffy, layered dress. Closing her eyes, the little Malfoy princess spun around and around; as she did, the full skirt of her dress flared out to two to three times its normal size, which pleased her immensely. She tried to stop in mid-spin, which caused her to wobble slightly.

"Mummy," she asked, "is the boy who walks with me at the end the flower _boy?"_

"No, he's called the ring bearer. Remember at rehearsal? He carries the bride and groom's rings on top of a pillow. It's a very important job, too."

Spellbound, she watched as her mother put the finishing touches on her make-up. "Mummy, do I look pretty, too?" she asked.

"Darling, you'll be the most beautiful little girl there." Rhiannon smiled widely. Turning back to her mirror, Ginny picked up her brush, then with her wand in her other hand, made sure her hair wouldn't lose its curl but not look or feel like it was glued in place.

A soft knock on the door announced that it was nearly time to go. It was already half past one, the house-elf informed them politely. Ginny was to Apparate to the hall where the nuptials were taking place to finish getting ready. She couldn't imagine why it would take so long, but Luna had asked her attendants to show up two hours beforehand. She attributed it to a simple case of pre-wedding jitters.

The anxious little girl started to leave the room when there was another knock on the half-opened door. "Ginevra? Rhiannon? Are you both ready?"

"Yes, Grandpa!" she said as she ran up to him and threw her arms around him. "Oh, Grandpa, I'm so _excited!_"

"Is this my little poppet? My, don't you look elegant?"

"Yes, I do!" the flower girl declared. Ginny cleared her throat rather loudly and exchanged a glance with her daughter. "I mean . . thank you."

He knelt down before her and placed his hands on her tiny shoulders. "It's a big day for you. Not everyone gets to be in a wedding." She nodded as she grinned from ear to ear.

"Now, run along, my dove. Musn't keep Shilla waiting. She's going to run through the steps with you one last time, so they're fresh in your mind. All right?"

"Okay, Grandpa – bye!"

He strolled over to where Lucas was resting. The toddler was just starting to doze off. Then he watched Ginevra as she put her earrings on. Their eyes met in the mirror.

"What?" she asked.

Lucius smiled then sauntered toward the vanity. "Nothing, really. I was just thinking . . how very nice you look. I like the way you've done your hair. It's quite flattering."

"Thank you," she said, her skin coloring slightly and her heart skipping a beat. Still watching him in the mirror, Ginny reached out absently for the necklace Shilla had laid out for her on the silver tray alongside her cosmetics. She felt her pulse and her breathing quicken slightly; she wondered if Lucius could tell.

He moved ever closer to her at the same maddeningly slow pace. "If you'll pardon me for saying so, my dear," he said huskily, "you look good enough to eat."

He reached out for the tops of her shoulders and rubbed them with care. She instantly stopped fiddling with the clasp on her necklace and dropped it into her lap. His hands gradually moved to the back of her neck and began massaging her, starting with a light touch then slowly increasing the pressure. She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed involuntarily; she didn't realize she was so tense.

Standing over her, he inhaled the scent of her hair then began to stroke it lovingly. She watched his face intently in the mirror. His eyes fell closed as he spread his fingers though her ginger curls and felt their softness. Ginny leaned back a bit to give him better access; when she did, she felt something firm pressing into her back that indicated that he _definitely_ liked her . . . that way. She gasped, and he released a low moan deep in his throat as he moved up against her.

His breathing ragged, he grabbed onto her shoulders and raised her to her feet. He spun her around and kissed her firmly on the mouth. Their desire was raging; no doubt remained in either of their minds as he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. They melted against each another, and Lucius started to feel that familiar ache he got whenever he'd been near her or had been thinking of her, torturing himself with want for her. He placed a hand on her breast and squeezed it gently. She whimpered in response. Despite her clothing, he could tell that it was having the desired effect. Her passion fueling his even further, he groaned and drew her in for another taste of her.

But things were moving too fast. And there _was_ that pesky little matter of the wedding . . although she didn't want to, Ginny broke the kiss. She thought it best they stop now, before neither of them could.

Trying to catch her breath, she urged, "Lucius, can we continue this later? I really need to go—"

"No. We can't," he insisted as he grasped her shoulders firmly and looked deep into her eyes. "I don't want to. And I don't think _you_ do, either." He had waited for her for so long, and he would not be denied. "Besides, there _are_ ways to find more time."

He pulled her body to his and pressed close against her. As he kissed her once more, her eyes fell closed in surrender. Then fidgeting with his robes, he pulled out a time turner and placed it around her neck as well. He turned it two – no, _three_ times, in case two wasn't long enough – and they went back together.

At 10:45 that morning, the room was almost pitch dark, as the drapes were still closed. Glancing toward the cradle, Ginny saw that the baby had not been brought in yet.

"Let's go," Lucius ordered as he threw an Invisibility Cloak over them. The first rule of time travel was to not be seen by _anyone_, especially themselves three hours before. She didn't know exactly where they would go that they wouldn't be seen – under an Invisibility Cloak was not the best place to have sex, as she and Draco had found out one night in the middle of her sixth year.

When she and Lucius reached the third floor of the manor and turned right rather than left, she took a guess.

"Is it the Room of Requirement, like the one they have at Hogwarts?" she said in barely a whisper.

"You know of it?" He seemed surprised.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, Pansy mentioned it once. Said it could contain whatever you wanted or needed." Annoyed that someone outside the Malfoy family knew about the room, Lucius scowled. "According to her," Ginny went on, "Draco tried to bring her up here once to seduce her when she was only 13. She refused, of course."

"I see." He paused momentarily then said, "We're here."

Removing the Cloak with a flourish, he concentrated on his needs, her expectations, what they both required. He pushed open the door, and when he did, she sighed. The room was breathtakingly beautiful, filled with exotic and romantic touches like candles, roses in vases, incense, and a roaring fire in the hearth.

"Does it please you, my dear?" he asked. She nodded mutely.

"Good," he breathed as he kissed her hand and slowly led her to the bed.

~End of Chapter~

Notes: I know, I'm such a tease. :-) As I have time, I'll probably write a naughty outtake. And don't worry, I didn't forget Snape's funeral or the investigation. Lots of things are still going on in the background. More after Neville and Luna's wedding. Thanks again for reading!


	12. Chapter 11

Author Notes: Lots of interaction, character development – and the plot moves forward. Fyrechild, thank you for being my beta reader. I appreciate your input!

In this chapter: A wedding reception with a view.

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 11**_

Six hours later, Neville and Luna were spinning around the room, dancing their first dance as Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom. A million miles away, they stared lovingly into one another's eyes, oblivious to the scores of witches and wizards who were presently sharing the ballroom of Marjoribanks Manor with them. Watching Neville twirl his wife around and seeing the rapture on his face, Ginny felt a mixture of joy, admiration, and just a hint of envy.

But she couldn't attribute all of it to the wedding or even to the champagne.

Her morning had been positively incredible. She knew she was glowing; she could feel it. A secret smirk of satisfaction on her face, she sighed and shoved her empty champagne glass in front of a house-elf who was passing by. When he turned around, she gasped.

"Oh, my goodness – Dobby!"

"Miss Weazey!" the startled elf cried as he made the glass disappear. "Dobby is so happy to be seeing you!"

"Hello, Dobby. How are you?"

"Dobby is well. Very well indeed. Thank you for asking about Dobby's health. And how is you, Miss Weazey? You seem . . sad."

She assured him she was fine then asked, "So did Luna insist on paying you for helping today?"

"Oh no, Miss Weazey; Dobby is not working today. Dobby is a guest."

Feeling exceedingly embarrassed by her thoughtless gesture – Merlin's beard, she had just handed him her empty _glass!_ – she stuttered her apologies. "F-forgive me, Dobby; that was very rude of me."

"No, no, Dobby is not offended. Miss Weazey meant no harm. On the contrary, Dobby feels very happy today. Miss Lovegood and Mr. Longbottom is married now. Miss Lovegood – er, Mrs. _Longbottom_ – will have many babies, like Miss Weazey's parents done. They is going to be so happy together." A tear came to his eye. "That reminds Dobby; when is Miss Weazey going to change _her_ name again?"

"Oh, I don't know that I will, Dobby. But thank you for your concern."

The house-elf looked at her with his enormous eyes and stated rather bluntly, "But no one should live alone. Especially not someone who is as nice as Ron Weazey's sister. And a mother, too. Her needs a good man."

She gave the elf an enigmatic smile. He bid her a very good afternoon and left rather suddenly. When she noticed Winky eyeing the butterbeer, she understood. Dobby had run over to rescue his friend by asking her to dance.

Still annoyed about her own presumptuous behavior, Ginny rolled her eyes. A familiar voice drawled from behind, "What was that all about, my dear?"

She picked up another flute of champagne and guzzled it. "Oh, I just did something incredibly stupid."

His lip curled in disgust as he watched the two servants pretending to dance along with the others, as if they were equals. "To the _house-elf?_" When Ginny nodded, he scoffed. "Who cares? They're vermin anyway." She grimaced at his callous remark, but when she opened her mouth to chastise him, he swept her in his arms and moved toward the dance floor.

"Dance with me?" he whispered. The guttural tone of his voice left no doubt that he was thinking of anything but dancing. Remembering what he had made her feel this morning, Ginny's skin tingled. She couldn't think of refusing him.

He glided her effortlessly across the room, never taking his eyes off of her. "Enjoying your day, my love?"

"Mmm . . it's been wonderful," she purred.

Then he leaned in and whispered something so unexpected, she wasn't sure she heard him right. It sounded like, _"Marry me." _

Mildly stunned, she stared at him. "What?"

"You heard me. Will you?"

Of course, Ginny had heard him – but she didn't know what to say. For one thing, she wasn't completely sure how she felt about him. She _thought_ she loved him; he had changed, that much was clear. He made her very happy, and they enjoyed each other's company. She was flattered, honored, and pleased by his proposal – and more than just a little surprised.

"Ginevra. I'm lonely, and let's face it, so are you. It's ideal; I love you and your children, we already live in the same house, we get along splendidly, and we understand each other. And if this morning is anything to judge by . . you do seem to care for me a little."

She blushed and said with a faint smile, "I'll think about it, all right?"

As they danced, she made a conscious effort to keep her body a respectable distance from his, hoping not to arouse suspicion or anything else that might land them on the front page of tomorrow's Daily Prophet. But Lucius was having none of that; he placed a hand in the small of her back and pressed her hips close to his. Her worried expression softened when he kissed her forehead tenderly.

On the far side of the room, Hermione watched as couples danced to the music. She smiled at the sight of Luna and Neville; they were so in love. Somewhere behind the renowned herbologist, she caught a glimpse of red hair that was almost the same color as her boyfriend's. On seeing the woman's partner, she nearly gasped aloud.

_**What**__ is Ginny doing, dancing arm in arm with Draco's father?_

At first, it seemed to be nothing more than a polite, platonic dance between two polar opposites whom fate had thrown together, and Hermione relaxed a little. But when he pulled Ginny much closer and she didn't seem to mind, Hermione stiffened slightly.

She knew she ought to stay out of it – whomever Ginny chose to dance with was certainly none of _her_ business – but she wasn't know how she could sit idly by and watch her old friend fall prey to a man who had done nothing but perpetrate evil his entire life. Even the way he had raised his only child was nothing short of legalized imprisonment.

She shook her head and gritted her teeth.

_Don't be stupid, Ginny. People don't just go away to Azkaban, devoted disciples to You-Know-Who, and then come back 'changed for the better'; just look at Barty Crouch, Jr.!_

She glanced around, hoping to find Fred. Instead, she noticed that Rita Skeeter eyeing the Malfoys; the ravenous look on her face made Hermione's skin crawl. The unscrupulous reporter was practically salivating for an interview with them. Or at the very least, with Lucius.

When Hermione saw the reporter's poison quill writing at least a hundred words a minute on the parchment floating in the air beside her, she thought,_ Oh, that's right, Rita; why bother with the truth?_ She could only imagine what lies that viper was spewing and planning to report as fact in tomorrow's Daily Prophet.

Just then, Fred sidled up behind his girlfriend and nuzzled his nose in her thick brunette hair. "What are you looking at, love? Checking out some other bloke who's prettier than me? Although I can't imagine who that would be."

She didn't even turn toward him. Staring across the crowded room, she pointed right at Rita Skeeter and said flatly, "That."

Wrinkling his nose as if he'd caught a whiff of something on Charlie's boots, he snorted, "Rita Skeeter? So what? No one believes her lies anymore, not even Mum." She looked at him raised an eyebrow then turned back toward the crowd of dancers. Fred followed her gaze and saw something he couldn't believe.

Releasing his girlfriend, he gasped, "What the hell is she doing with that bastard?! He's an absolute arsehole – not to mention, at least twice her age!"

"Calm down, Fred. I don't like it either. But believe me, interfering like she was a little girl will only make things worse." She sighed. "You should have heard her last _night!_"

He acted like he didn't hear her. "I'll kill him, the smarmy, evil . . . If he thinks he can swoop down and take her, just like his rat-fink son did, he's got another thing coming—"

Hermione grabbed onto his arm. "Please, be reasonable! Your sister is a grown woman. If she wants to dance with a former Death-Eater, then that's her decision."

Frustrated, he knew she was right. He groaned and turned to see what Rita Skeeter was up to. "Oh, no," he said, "now she's walking toward Professor McGonogall and my mum. That'll be a _disaster!_ I've got to go stop her."

As he took off, she called after him, "Who, Rita?"

"No – Mum!"

The cluster of dancers soon started to disperse from the floor at a leisurely pace. Lucius's hand rested gently on Ginny's shoulder. When they neared the edge of the dance floor, he offered, "I'll get us a drink." Ginny took the opportunity to check up on her little angel.

For the past hour, Rhiannon had been busy looking for the ring bearer, seven-year-old Thaddeus Wood. He had so far avoided being kissed by his younger counterpart, an accomplishment he was quite pleased with. The flower girl, however, was extremely annoyed.

"Mummy, where did Thaddeus go? I've got to kiss him, or he'll never know."

"Know what, sweetheart?"

"That I _love_ him, of course!" she stated as if it were as clear as day. Taking her mother's hand, she pleaded, "You've got to help me find him, Mummy." And the two went off in search of the elusive ring-bearer.

Elsewhere in the hall, a heavy, white-haired wizard spotted his old friend, Lucius. With a deep laugh, he bellowed, "Hello there, Malfoy!"

"Karl. How are you?"

"Fine, fine. And you?"

"Very well, thank you. And how is Verla? Is she here today?"

"No, she hates weddings. Too many people acting like they bloody like each other, if you ask her. Me, I just show up for the free food and to ogle those sexy little bridesmaids, you know? And there were some juicy ones today!"

"I see," the blond wizard said in a bored tone.

Karl chortled again and said mockingly, "_I see_, he says. Too right you do! Who was that stunning young lady you were dancing with, Malfoy? You two seemed right cozy with each other. That arse, those gorgeous lips – I bet she could . . well, you know!" He winked and nudged Lucius with his large elbow.

When he didn't respond, Karl whispered loudly, "Let's just say that she could make a wizard _very_ happy, indeed. How'd you manage to nab her? Are you two, er, you know . . _with_ each other?"

His friend replied coolly, "Really, Karl. She's my daughter-in-law, Draco's widow." Although Lucius was actually quite proud of his conquest, he wanted to watch the fat man squirm just a bit.

And squirm he did.

"I-I'm sorry, Lucius. Didn't mean to imply . . well, you know, what was I to think? You were pressed completely up against her – you couldn't have gotten a sliver of parchment between you, so naturally, I just assumed that—"

The blond wizard laughed out loud. "I'm joking, Karl. I mean, she really _is_ my daughter-in-law, but still, we are rather fond of each other. As far as her talents in the bedroom, well . . . a gentleman never tells," he finished cryptically as he took a sip from his champagne.

"Lucius, you sly dog! What's your secret?" Karl licked his lips hungrily as he blatantly stared at Ginny, watching her breasts bounce up and down in her low-cut robes as she ran after a young girl who was holding onto a basket of flower petals.

"Let's just say the poor girl has a weakness for wizards with blond hair and silver eyes."

"And silver tongues, eh? You old snake!" Karl burst out laughing. Patting him on the back a little too roughly, he congratulated, "Well done, man. I wish you two all the best. See you later, Malfoy!"

* * * * *

"Well? Did you find Rita?" Hermione asked Fred anxiously when he returned to the table she was now sharing with Tonks. She too was very concerned for Ginny.

"No. She got away, and quick."

She placed a finger under her chin and thought for moment. "You don't think she _transformed_, do you?"

Tonks's ears pricked up. "She's a Metamorphagus?"

"No, thankfully; but she is an Animagus, and with her general lack of scruples, that's bad enough. She can turn into a beetle. Although I doubt she ever formally registered her skill," Hermione added with a sniff.

Fred chuckled. "Well, she'd best watch out in a crowd this large; she'll likely end up stuck to the bottom of someone's shoe."

"True. And the officials would be _hard-pressed_ to prove it wasn't just an accident," an amused voice chimed in.

It was George. He was with his wife, Katie. She looked quite happy, and Hermione wondered if she might be pregnant again. Drinks and plates in hand, the couple joined them.

"Hey! Glad you could make it!" Fred exclaimed. "And how is my best-looking brother?"

"Positively corking, my good man. And you?"

"I'm still with Hermione, aren't I? What could be better? Of course, the marrieds are 'fashionably late'."

"As usual," he said with a casual shrug. "We had to wait for the sitter to arrive."

"Suuuuure, you did. 'Waiting for the sitter . . ' Is that what they're calling sex in the afternoon these days?"

"Fred!" his girlfriend hissed as she playfully slapped his arm. Tonks barely concealed a snicker.

"Errr, no comment?" George said with a wince, hoping Katie wouldn't kick him under the table.

"Well, damn shame you missed the wedding. It was lovely. But at least you made it in time for the good part, eh?"

"Right you are, Fred," he said as took a bite of his roast beef sandwich.

A sudden shriek from across the room startled them out of their revelry. They looked to where the sound came from and could see Molly Weasley, searching madly for something or someone. Her wand was drawn but aiming at no one. The twins leaped up and got to her as quickly as they could. Fred asked her, "Mum, what happened?"

"Are you all right?" George finished for him as Hermione, Katie, and Tonks joined them.

"What did she say to you?" her daughter-in-law asked.

Molly glared at them. She was beyond livid. "Oh, that _cow!_ First she has the nerve to point out to me that Ginny is dancing with that fiend – as if I didn't see them myself! And then she asked me, 'Tell me, is she still living with him?' I started to say she doesn't live **with** him, and then she sneered, 'Do you think they actually have separate rooms?' as if _my_ daughter would ever . . _urggghh!_"

She stormed off, muttering, "I'm going to owl that rag she works for and give them a piece of my mind . . A Howler like they've never seen before! If she so much as prints one word of the _lies_ she was—"

The three women ran after her. George rolled his eyes as Fred did the same. "She's dead," they said in unison.

Ginny had managed to miss most of the uproar she had inadvertently caused. She thought she heard some shouting, but with the large, noisy crowd, she couldn't tell what all the fuss was about or even who it was. She certainly never dreamed that _she_ was at the center of it.

Soon after Karl and Lucius parted ways, he met up with Ginny and gave her another glass of champagne. When he did, his granddaughter was kneeling on the ground over one very embarrassed young boy lying flat on the ground. It was the ring bearer, Thaddeus Wood. For some odd reason, he seemed to be complaining of being unable to move his legs.

Lucius squinted his eyes. "Ginevra, what the—"

"Shhh," she whispered, "it's just a teeny Leglocker Curse. She wanted to kiss him. He'll be fine."

He sighed. Rhiannon secured a wet, sloppy kiss and exclaimed, "I love you, Thaddeus!!", then quickly ran away.

Once the theatrics had ended, Ginny lifted the curse and said with fake concern, "Oh dear! Thaddeus, are you all right?" She gave Lucius a secret grin.

He helped the poor lad to his feet and asked, "Feeling better now? You must be more careful."

"But I swear, I couldn't move my legs _**or**_ my feet!"

"My daughter can't perform even the simplest magic, much less what you're suggesting," Ginny insisted. A simple _Obliviate_ from Rhiannon's paternal grandfather, and the entire incident was forgotten.

Oliver and Alicia Wood appeared moments later. He asked their son, "Thad, are you okay?"

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy was just helping me up. Thank you, ma'am."

"Not at all," Ginny replied kindly as she dusted off his robes. "Do be careful."

"I will. Dad, can we go home now? I'm tired." Oliver agreed, and after silently nodding his thanks to Ginny, he and his family left.

"That was . . . interesting. You're quite the little devil, aren't you?"

She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "I just think a person should never stop having fun."

"Was _that_ what that was – fun?" he asked as he glared at her, pretending to be annoyed. But she could see that he was trying not to smile.

"Yes. Loads." Ginny giggled to herself; Lucius shook his head. Just then, Rhiannon came running back with a glass of punch in her hand and a disgusted look on her face. "What's the matter, dear?" her mother asked.

"That was gross! Kissing boys is yucky!"

* * * * *

The reception had been going for hours, and the newlyweds still had a bit of traveling before them tonight. Their destination was too remote and the weather too unpredictable this time of year for them to Apparate safely, and Neville had never liked Portkeys. They made him nauseous.

The couple prepared to leave for their three-week honeymoon in the Mediterranean. They had changed into traveling clothes. While their trunks were magically being shrunk down to a manageable size and loaded into their carriage, they said their goodbyes and thanked the guests for coming and for all their marvelous gifts.

Meanwhile, Luna began talking excitedly to Hermione, but it wasn't about gifts or about being her attendant. The two witches were discussing Luna's work at the Hogwarts Library. Hermione nodded over and over, assuring her everything would be fine.

Although he was standing right next to them, Neville didn't hear a word they'd said. Instead, he was trying frantically to remember everything he'd read about women's bodies and what he might do to help Luna enjoy their wedding night. He was also afraid he might accidentally hurt her, and more than a little fearful that he wouldn't last longer than ten seconds the first time. And he was hoping there would _be_ a second time tonight if he didn't.

_There sure is a lot of pressure on the groom,_ he thought anxiously.

He looked up a minute later and noticed Ginny. Seeing her reminded him that he had forgotten something. Something he was supposed to give to her. But dammit, he couldn't remember what it was! All he knew was that it was very important.

_Seems it was something from Saint Mungo's . ._

Then it hit him.

"Ginny," he finally shouted over the noise of the crowd of well-wishers, "I've got something to give you. It's a letter!" He reached into his robes searching for the envelope marked _"Private – Ginevra Malfoy."_

She could barely hear him. "What? You've got something for me?"

Grabbing his crotch, Seamus shouted, "No, he's got something for _Luna!_"

When Dean teased, "Yeah, back off, Ginny; you had your chance!" the two of them burst out laughing.

The nervous groom tried his best to ignore their taunting but turned beet-red in spite of himself. "It's a letter from your friend, Brian! Hang on, it's in my other trousers – oh hell, they're already packed for the trip—"

One of the groomsmen asked Neville if he wanted to still be a virgin in the morning, and if not, they'd better get their arses moving and start consummating their marriage. Ron agreed, saying, "You've been married at least three hours and you _still_ haven't gotten laid! Get on with it, man!" Some of the onlookers tittered while others cheered their approval.

Neville blushed again and promptly forgot all about Ginny's letter. Within seconds, several of the men were physically pushing the bride and groom into the carriage that was waiting to whisk them away to paradise. They shoved poor Neville so hard that he landed on top of his bride. He felt very embarrassed, but Luna didn't mind. She couldn't stop giggling.

Ginny stepped up to the carriage and placed a hand on the open door. She reassured him, "It's all right, Neville – you two go have a great time. Relax and enjoy yourselves! I'll be here when you get back; I'm sure it can wait." He smiled and waved once before the carriage bolted away and flew up into the air.

They were soon flying high overhead in their private carriage pulled by winged horses. It cloaked itself, horses and all, as soon as it left the manor grounds. With the newlyweds gone, the party suddenly felt like it was over.

"There goes another one," Ron mumbled to anyone who would listen. "Cor, even _Neville_ got married before I did." Ginny was in earshot but pretended not to hear. She pursed her lips and went back inside to find Lucius and Rhiannon to get ready to go home.

Hermione put her arm around his shoulder; patting him on the back, she said, "Maybe you're not looking for the right sort of girl, Ron. I mean, I've seen the trollops you've brought home for family dinners—"

"Trollops?!" he snapped. "None of my girlfriends were 'trollops'!"

His oldest friend just threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, sure. They're all just the kind of daughter-in-law your mother is looking for. Fishnet stockings, tight mini-skirts, and tattoos. Lovely!" she added with a grin.

He studied her smile for a moment. She'd always been a fairly pretty girl. Not gorgeous, but certainly not a hag either. He had very nearly dated her himself in their seventh year at Hogwarts until he decided he probably wasn't 'brilliant' enough for her. That was when she took up with Harry.

When her laughter had ended, he grimaced at her, and the two of them walked back inside together.

"Not all of them. There was Emily. Remember, the assistant in a custom robes shop? She was . . nice."

"And what happened to Emily, hmm? Why did you two stop seeing each other?" He mumbled something she couldn't quite hear. "What was that, Ron? She wouldn't put what?"

He glared at her. _"Out."_ His face was scarlet. He gritted his teeth in annoyance at her self-righteous attitude then sneered, "Oh, sure. And I suppose you and Fred never, uh, well, you know . . _do it._"

She leaned in close and whispered, _"Well, even if we do, I don't need to dress like a slag to advertise it."_

Feeling vindicated, she smiled again. "Besides, Ron, if that's one of your qualifications for a girlfriend, then I'd say you deserve to keep getting dumped." With that, she turned on her heel, leaving him staring after her with his mouth hanging open.

She walked inside and quickly located Fred. At first, she almost mistook him for his twin, as George and Katie's oldest daughter was right beside him. "Are you ready?" she asked.

"Yeah, Hermione. Let me just, er, fix up my niece here."

She gasped when she caught sight of the blood that was steadily oozing out of the little girl's nose. Her uncle was kneeling next to her attempting to stop the flow. "What _happened_ to her?!"

"Oh, silly thing; she got a hold of a Nosebleed Nougat. Thought it was real candy. And Uncle Freddie has got to get the evidence out of her robes before her mum finds out." He added with a nervous chuckle, "She'll kill me."

Hermione scoffed, "Well, maybe she should! Why would you bring _those_ to a wedding?"

"Always looking for new customers . . ?" he squeaked with a shrug. "Besides, most kids find weddings bloody boring – no pun intended. What better way to get out of one than to have a persistent nosebleed?"

His girlfriend was neither amused nor impressed by his ingenious new marketing strategy. She tossed her cloak around her and said, "You know, I really don't feel like going to The Burrow again today. I'm going home."

He stood up, looking dismayed. "What? But Mum's counting on us for dinner!"

"Oh, I'm sure my portion won't go to waste – not as long as _Ron's_ invited. Please give my apologies to Molly and tell her that I'll bring the girls by first thing Monday morning." And with that, she Apparated back to London.

* * * * *

When Ginny, Rhiannon, and Lucius arrived back at Malfoy Manor, it was just getting dark. The little girl was completely knackered. It was all she could do to get to her room. Her mother addressed the house-elf quietly, "Shilla, would you please put her to bed? She's had such a big day."

As soon as the child and the elf were out of sight, Lucius grabbed Ginny rather forcibly and placed his hands possessively on her shoulders. "I thought this day would _never_ end," he breathed as he took in her youthful innocence and her beauty.

He undid her hairstyle in one swift motion then sunk his fingers into her silky ginger locks. _"Exquisite,"_ he whispered. He brought her face to his and devoured her lips in a burning kiss. If it were possible, he was even more passionate than he had been that morning. Ginny could feel her own desire building as well; she involuntarily moaned against his lips, certain that she would end up in his bed before the night was over.

He broke the kiss and bent his head down. She closed her eyes as her head dropped back of its own volition; when she did, he held her closer still as he licked and nipped at the creamy skin of her throat. At one point, he bit down so hard that she cried out a little – but it only excited him more and his raging erection now pressed insistently against her stomach.

He asked in a ragged breath, "My room or yours?"

Almost before the invitation was out of his mouth, she was holding her knickers on one finger before him. _"Neither,"_ she said as she hiked her leg up to his waist and gave him the most wicked smile.

He cast a quick Silencing Charm, hoisted her up, and slipped inside her, pressing her back up against the wall. It was desperate, it was exciting – it was raw, forbidden pleasure. It didn't take either one of them long to peak; grinding into her to make his ecstasy last, he kissed her deeply, bringing her to climax once more.

"You are _incredible,_" he told her as he gently set her down. They gazed into each other's eyes while their breathing returned to normal. Then with one last, soft kiss, he whispered, "We'd best sleep in our own rooms tonight, just in case Rhiannon wakes up early tomorrow. Good night, my sweet Ginevra."

She watched him until he reached the top of the stairs. Feeling sated yet rather tempted to ignore his request, she groaned softly to herself and reluctantly followed his lead. As she went into her room, she thought about his proposal. It sounded tempting, but still, she just wasn't sure.

Ginny sat on her bed and picked up her favorite picture of Draco. She watched the image in the frame as it smiled and waved to her. It blew kisses, winked at her, and mouthed _'I love you'_, over and over. She smiled sadly; as if he could actually hear her, asked, "What should I do, Draco? He's the closest thing I'll ever have to you, and I . . I think I might love him. I know if you could, you'd probably scream at me—"

She laughed at herself. "But he treats me wonderfully, and of course, he adores the children. He positively dotes on Lucas. And," she added in a whisper, _"I can see who must have coached you when it came to pleasing a woman._"

But she knew he didn't have any answers for her; he wouldn't respond or stop smiling at her or even yell at her for sleeping with Lucius. This wasn't something she could discuss with Pansy or Millicent; they wouldn't understand at all. Not even Luna, with her amazing tolerance for unthinkable possibilities, would have any sage advice. She was alone on this one.

She kissed the photo and set it down on the nightstand. Closing her eyes, she rolled over and fell into a fitful sleep filled with dreams of him.

* * * * *

"Ginny, it doesn't matter what _I _want. I'm out of the equation. It's what you want. All I want is for you to be happy. And if he makes you feel something that resembles joy, then I think you should say yes."

It was Draco, talking to her, just as clearly as if he were standing in her room. Just as if he were alive and she were awake.

Still, she fretted. "I know, I just – I don't know how to say it. I feel like . . like I'm betraying you somehow."

"Darling, the only way you could betray me is if Potter had lived, divorced Granger, and married _you_ instead. Now that would be an insult to me. Like you were spitting on my grave."

Licking her lips, Ginny asked slowly, "So . . do you two ever see each other? In the hereafter?"

He laughed softly. "No. Our paths never cross. Probably because they never did on Earth, really. Kind of hard to explain it, but I guess that's how it is."

Just then, Draco reached out and tried to touch her face. Even though he had touched in her other dreams, this time, Ginny believed – no, she _knew –_ that he couldn't physically touch her, so his fingers went right through her.

"That's good. You're letting go," he whispered. "I must say, you do look happy. Content." He paused then said, "If this is the man you choose, then I'd suggest you give him an answer first thing in the morning. Don't wait; say it over breakfast. I promise, nothing will make him happier."

She looked down at their wedding photo in her lap and closed her eyes. No tears came. And when she opened them, he was gone.

~End of Chapter~

Notes: The location for the wedding and reception is Marjoribanks Manor. Beaumont Marjoribanks was a famous herbologist born in 1742. He discovered Gillyweed (thank you, Harry Potter Lexicon!).

As always, reviews welcome!


	13. Chapter 12

Author Notes: Yet another long chapter, so let's get started. More plot development and perhaps a twist or two. Thank you for beta-reading this, Fyrechild, and thanks to all who have read, especially those who have posted a review or added this to their Favorite Stories. It always makes my day to see that. :-)

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 12**_

The young witch awoke to find roses in the room – dozens of roses, perhaps a hundred or more. Smiling, she stretched languidly then sat up. On the table by the window, there was a tray with a steaming pot of tea, a carafe of pumpkin juice, toast, orange marmalade, and the Sunday paper.

Not wishing to disturb her new lover, she used her wand to levitate the tray and bring it over to her lap. A simple Balancing Charm ensured it wouldn't tip over or spill. After pouring herself a cup of tea and spreading the marmalade on her toast, she licked the knife impetuously.

She nibbled on her toast as she unfolded the paper and perused the front page. As expected, the 'wedding of the season' was a feature story, followed by alleged sightings of You-Know-Who that made her scoff. All that anyone knew was that he was so deep in hiding, it seemed he might never resurface. He hadn't been seen for years, and his absence brought a sort of uneasy peace to the wizarding world.

The aurors who had been there at the last official sighting of the Dark Lord wouldn't say what had transpired between him and Harry Potter. It was still considered classified, even though the Boy Who Lived had died almost two years ago. In fact, if it weren't for a few obsessive lunatics like Mad-Eye Moody who refused to give up their 'constant vigilance' and a handful of one-time Death Eaters who secretly murmured that he _was_ still alive – just very well hidden – it seemed the world had forgotten all about He Who Must Not Be Named.

Turning the pages as she sipped her honey-sweetened tea, she gave them a quick once-over to see if there was anything about herself or any of her friends. But there wasn't. Mildly disappointed, she sighed. Maybe her girlfriends were right: these days, her life was just too dull to bother with being reported about anymore.

Then at the bottom of page five, she saw something that made her tea come spewing out of her mouth and splatter all over the Daily Prophet. The headline was small and seemingly insignificant; it was anything but. The news was simply shocking! She quickly removed the Balancing Charm on the tray and then levitated it back to the table. Her lap cleared, she slapped her bedmate's bare buttock, causing him to flinch.

"Oww," he protested weakly from his sleep.

"Vincent, wake up!" Pansy cried out. "Listen to this!" She cleared her throat and started to read aloud.

'_**Could Wedding Bells Soon be **_

_**Ringing for the Malfoys?'**_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_When Ginevra Weasley Malfoy decided to kick up her heels at her best friend Luna Lovegood's wedding reception yesterday afternoon at Marjoribanks Manor, no one was surprised that she would do so with her father-in-law, Lucius Malfoy. Ginevra has lived at Malfoy Manor since her marriage to Lucius's son, the late Draco Malfoy._

_However, what did surprise even this reporter, a consummate professional who prides herself on getting to the bottom of every story, was the manner in which the two Malfoys danced. Almost all the couples, even married ones who know each other intimately, danced a respectable distance from one another, as is expected at a large and very public formal gathering. Yet there was almost no space between Ginevra and Lucius. As the dance drew to a close, I saw, with my infallible eyesight, him kiss her. _

_Now to the casual observer, it might have appeared to be nothing more than a fatherly peck on the young lady's forehead. But the way his lips lingered on her hairline, the way his eyes fell shut as he breathed deeply of her russet hair – which by the way, was exquisitely styled – left no doubt in this reporter's mind that the status of their once-platonic relationship has changed indeed._

_I predict their engagement is imminent. When it is officially announced, rest assured I will divulge a full report on it in this column. _

Pansy squealed and clapped her hands once. Not quite following why this was such great news, Vincent stated the obvious. "Blimey, he must be 25, 30 years older than her. What does she _see_ in him?"

She smirked. "Well, that doesn't mean that some young witches don't find him attractive." Suddenly, Pansy's eyes went wild with excitement. "Oh, I must contact Millicent! It's not like she reads the paper every day, you know."

"Maybe not, but Marcus does."

Pansy scoffed then asked him with a frown, "What makes you think she'd listen to him?"

He shrugged then rolled out of bed as he stretched and yawned. Strutting about in all his glory, he teased, "Sure you don't want to come back to bed? I promise I'll do that _thing_ with my mouth that you like." He wiggled his eyebrows and snaked his tongue between his lips.

Too distracted to take any notice of her new lover's enticing offer, she searched around for her clothes. "Are any of your fireplaces on the Floo Network?"

"The one downstairs is, but the Flints' fireplaces aren't _on_ it – remember?"

She groaned in frustration. "Oh, shit, you're right. Wait, I think I have that compact Millie gave me at her wedding; I only hope _she_ has hers with her so we can talk."

When Vincent realized she wasn't interested in crawling back into bed with him just yet, he reached for his boxers. "Well, let me get me trousers on first. Don't fancy Millie seeing my willy." Once he finished dressing, he walked over to Pansy and held her face in his massive hands. "I hope you enjoyed last night as much as I did."

"Yes, it was nice," she snipped, brushing him off. It seemed like she was more interested in spreading gossip than she was in him. "Please, Vincent. Give me a moment to adjust the settings on this mirror. Go – go pour yourself some tea."

Annoyed, he sulked as he sat down next to her, thinking, _She certainly didn't mind it last night; she was all over me!_ Pansy had gone to the wedding with Vincent, and the two of them left together just as the reception was winding down. Once they picked up Daniel and Luther from their mother's house, they put them to bed shortly after arriving back at his house.

As they walked slowly away from his children's bedroom, Vincent had boldly taken Pansy in his arms and kissed her. It was a kiss of utter longing, filled with need and want and yearning; she had returned it with equal fervor. Months of pent-up desire and frustration had unleashed itself in a matter of moments. It had been _ages_ since either of them had been in a situation like this, where an opportunity such as this had presented itself so readily – and they intended to make the most of it. They had climbed the stairs as quickly as they could while trying to avoid breaking the kiss and possibly ending the magic.

But the eager couple didn't even make it all the way to the master suite; they'd started shagging near the top of the stairs. After that first hasty, frantic time, they moved into Vincent's bedroom and continued until nearly four in the morning, when physical exhaustion had finally overtaken them both. He'd watched her drift off to sleep then quietly called the house-elf to procure 120 red roses, the scent of which had filled the room that morning.

It had been one of the most incredible nights of the young wizard's life.

He watched her as she fiddled with her mirror a bit more. When she noticed him with that sad, longing look in his eyes, she realized how rude she had just been. "I'm sorry, Vincent. It's just that . . . well, Millie always gets her way, and I just – just want to beat at her at _something._"

Smiling gently, he touched her hair and said, "That's all right, love. We've got all day." She was still holding the Daily Prophet, so he picked up the other reading material the elf had delivered. There was a new catalogue from Longbottom's Fine Herbology Products and the November and December editions of Potion Masters Monthly.

Once Pansy had the settings on her compact just right, she tapped the edge of its tortoise shell frame with her wand and called out the name _'Millicent Flint'_. A ribbon of silver and deep green flickered across the small piece of round glass inside, and her friend's image soon appeared.

However, Millie was not surprised in the least that she had contacted her. In her usual self-assured tone, she assumed that she knew what her old friend wanted. "I guess you must have heard," she said, her voice flat and emotionless.

Pansy felt the wind leave her sail as she was disappointed once more. "Yes," she said, swallowing her pride. She didn't even feel that _excited_ about the news anymore . . . as if it didn't have quite the same shock value as it had a moment ago.

But she wouldn't let her friend get the upper hand this time.

Holding up the paper and wearing a fake smile, Pansy went on as if she didn't care that if Millie already knew; she wanted to tell her anyway. "Yes! I saw Rita's article in the Daily Prophet near the bottom of page 5. Very interesting; do you think she could be right?"

"Rita Skeeter?" Mrs. Flint asked her, dumbstruck. "She did an _article_ on it? What did she say?"

Pansy glanced at Vincent out of the corner of her eye to gauge his reaction. This wasn't going at all how she thought it would. "Well – she predicts they'll announce their engagement any day now."

Squinting her eyes, the young mother shook her head. "Pansy, what on Earth are you talking about?"

"Uh," she replied with a stutter, "uh, th-this, er, this article about Ginny. It says she might be getting engaged. Isn't that what _you're_ talking about?"

"No. I'm referring to Severus Snape's funeral. It's going to be this Wednesday morning. Marcus just got an owl from work about it."

Pansy felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach. "Oh. I-I didn't know yet. Thank you for telling me," she said emptily.

"You will be there, won't you? After all, the man was our Head of House for seven years." During the silence, she studied what she could see of Pansy's surroundings. She didn't recognize any of the furniture as belonging to the Parkinsons, but she thought she could make out the shoulder of a man who was sitting beside her. "Where are you, dear? Who's with you?"

"Oh, uh, Vin-Vincent Crabbe. I'm at his house."

Intrigued, she nodded and hummed, "Mmm . . . I see. How do you do, Vince?"

"Fine, Millie. Yourself?" he replied, barely looking up from his reading. "Tell Marcus I said hello."

She nodded then pursed her lips as she asked curiously, "Now what's all this nonsense about Ginny getting _engaged? _To whom? She's not even dating anyone. Although Seymour Cox did seem to fancy her at that party the other night . . ."

"Well, no, actually. It's her father-in-law, Lucius Malfoy. Rita Skeeter made, umm, a sort of prediction that the two of them are closer than we all suspected. She thinks they will be announcing a wedding in the not-too-distant future. Wh-what do you think, Millie? Could she be right?"

But somehow, this wasn't as much fun as Pansy had hoped it would be.

Her friend thought for a moment and then chuckled, "Ginny and Lucius, getting married? Rubbish! Rita Skeeter would say anything to sell a paper. Remember during The Triwizard Tournament during our fourth year at Hogwarts? All of that shit she printed about Potter and Granger? It was pure lies. Anyone could tell she was over the moon for her _other_ 'best friend', that penniless, not to mention brainless, oaf Ron Weasley. You know, of course, it was Draco who fed Rita all those lies – ironic, since he ended up marrying Weasley's sister."

"So . . . you don't believe it, Millie? Not a word?"

"No. It's absolute crap." Then after another moment's pause, she snorted and said almost to herself, _"Although it might explain a few things,"_ and then stopped.

"What was that?"

Millicent smirked as she glanced away. "Nothing, dear."

The teacher just stared back into the mirror, blinking as she studied Mrs. Flint's enigmatic smile. "I guess. I just wanted to . . . tell you about it." She refolded the paper into fourths, set it aside, and said rather curtly, "Well, of course, I'll arrange to have Wednesday morning off for the funeral. Thanks again for letting me know."

"Not at all. Goodbye, Pansy. See you, Vince." Her image faded away, and she was gone.

Pansy picked up her tea. Vincent had warmed it up for her and added another dab of honey; she grinned at him. "Thank you."

"No problem," he replied, looking up from his reading and smiling back awkwardly. "Looked like things weren't going too well with old Millie, so I thought you could use a little boost."

"You are just too sweet." He blushed as he continued to turn the pages of the magazine resting on his lap. After finishing her tea, she gathered her things to go take a shower. "Sure you don't want to get in with me?" she suggested flirtatiously.

But instead of answering her, he jumped to his feet faster than she thought he was able to. His mouth fell open, and his eyes got very large; he gaped at the pages in his hands. "That Longbottom is a fucking genius! You know, back at school, we all thought he was stupider than Gregory," he said with a little giggle to himself.

Pansy snickered. "No one's stupider than Gregory – although most of us thought _you_ were."

He rolled his eyes and snorted. "Neither of us were stupid; Mr. Malfoy paid our dads to make sure we _looked_ stupid in front of everyone, so Draco would look smarter."

Her lips drew into an even wider smile. "Ah. Now it makes sense," she said with a nod. When Vincent gave her a quizzical look, she raised an eyebrow. "Well, I always wondered how you turned into this gifted potions expert when you were such a dolt at Hogwarts."

He laughed. "Yeah we probably took it a bit too far at times."

"So what's Longbottom done that's so 'genius'?"

He shoved the December magazine into her hands and said, "He's only on the verge of a breakthrough on a hybrid plant whose properties are thought to include reversing the effects of damage to the human mind. It's bloody brilliant!"

She didn't quite grasp the magnitude of it. "So I take it this must be . . . a pretty big deal?"

He shook his head and spread his hands widely for emphasis. "This isn't big, Pansy; this is _huge._ It could lead to any number of new potions and healing procedures. In fact, he could go down as the greatest herbologist in history."

When she just stared back at him blankly, he looked her straight in the eye and said, "It means he might be able to cure his own parents."

* * * * *

"I'm so happy to see you, Mummy!" the little girl greeted as she bounded into the dining room for breakfast, her empty flower basket from yesterday hanging on her arm.

Ginny looked up from her reading. "Hello, darling. You certainly seem excited this morning." Feeling a bit tired, she couldn't quite muster the same enthusiasm as her daughter.

"Well, of course – it's almost my birthday! And Lucas's, too. He'll be one year old," she exclaimed proudly as she held up one finger. "Shilla told me."

"I know. Isn't that great?"

"Yes! Are you and Grandpa planning a really big party for us?"

"Well, I—"

"With cake and ice cream and presents and clowns with balloons and ponies for my friends to ride? I mean, I have Lady Godiva, but it would be really nice if my friends from Miss Pansy's classroom could ride ponies, too."

When the girl finally stopped to take a breath, her mother tried to jump in. "We'll see about all th—"

"Not Lucas, though. He's too little. He doesn't even know _how_ to have a birthday, but I'll show him. We'll we have lots candy and pumpkin juice and pin the tail on the dragon, and pretend Quidditch, won't we?" She grabbed a blueberry muffin and waved it victoriously, shouting, "Look at me – I caught the Snitch!"

Now that her daughter finally seemed to be finished with her requests, Ginny said, "That's an awful lot of things, Rhiannon. Let me talk to your grandpa." She readied the girl's tea and placed it in front of her, intending to get back to reading the paper. She hadn't even gotten past the first page. All she had done so far was to glance at Neville and Luna's smiling photographs and breeze through the article about them. "Now let your mother read, please."

But the excited child prattled on as if she hadn't heard a word. "It was nice seeing my cousins again yesterday. And I really miss Jamie and Lily Potter. I almost forgot what they look like. When can I play at their house again?"

"Not for a while," Ginny replied noncommittally.

"Well, can they come to my party? Or my cousins? Please?"

She hesitated. "I'm sorry, dear. They can't."

"Why not?" Rhiannon pouted then took a drink of tea.

"I just don't think their parents would want to come here," she explained without looking up from her paper.

"But Mrs. Potter was here a few days ago."

"How did _you_ know that?" her mother asked, frowning.

"I was in bed, and I got up to go to the bathroom. I looked out the window to see if it was snowing, and she just . . . showed up. What's that called again? Miss Pansy told us, but I forgot." She took a huge bite of her muffin.

"Not so much at one time, dear. You might choke. Do you mean Apparating?"

"Appuh . . . rating. Yeah." She giggled. "Sometimes I call it Evaporating." Ginny smiled. "Can't they do that, Mummy?"

"No, children can't Apparate. It takes training, and you need to pass a test."

Suddenly, Rhiannon's eyes lit up, as if she had an idea that no one else had ever thought of before. "They could just use Floo Powder to get here!" Pleased with her quick thinking, she smiled then stuffed the last bite of the muffin into her little mouth.

Ginny sighed. "Well, they _could_, but . . . your Uncle George and I don't really want to talk to each other."

After a half-minute of beloved silence, the little girl said softly, "You know what? Someone told me that he's your brother. I didn't know you had a brother."

"Yes. That's what makes him your uncle. We are brother and sister."

Confused, she asked, "Is Katie your sister?"

"No, Katie is George's wife. She's my sister-in-_law_," her mum explained, still trying to read.

"But Mummy, if you have a brother, why don't you want to talk to him? I talk to Lucas every day, even if he doesn't say anything back. And why doesn't your brother come over? Don't you love him?"

_This is going to be tricky,_ Ginny thought as she sighed internally and set the paper to one side.

_Well – here goes nothing._

"Yes, I do. But something happened; something that changed me, that changed my family, even my parents, so much that we can't—"

She struggled for words that the young girl would understand.

"We had a fight. A really big fight. We do love each other, but we don't . . really _like_ each other that much."

"Why not?"

This wasn't easy. What to tell her, how to handle this, was more difficult than she had ever thought it would be. Finally, she said, "They think . . I lied about something very important. They think I said some terrible, untrue things about Jamie and Lily's daddy. And until they believe me, I don't really want to see them at all."

"That's sad, because you're so nice. Your mummy and daddy must miss you." She swallowed the last bit of her tea and reached for the pumpkin juice.

Ginny's eyes fell shut as she whispered, "Right."

Her daughter moved over to her then reached up and hugged her. Patting her mother on the shoulder, Rhiannon said, "Don't worry, Mummy. We'll make them listen to you."

When Lucius arrived in the dining room moments later, he too put an arm around Ginny's shoulder. "Everything all right, my dears?"

"Hello, Grandpa. I'm just sad for Mummy because she never sees her family."

He shrugged casually. "She could, if she wanted to. No one's stopping her. In fact, why don't you drop by the Burrow in the next few days, just to say hello? See how everyone is doing? he suggested.

"I don't think it would be a good idea."

"Nonsense! I saw your mother yesterday. She's looking well. I also saw one or two of your brothers."

This was big news to Rhiannon. "You have more than _one_ brother?!" she asked, her face drawn into a smile.

Glaring at Lucius, Ginny answered, "Yes, I have several – _all_ of them upset with me at the moment."

This gave the child yet another idea. "Do they have any kids that can come to my party?!"

At first, Lucius hedged. But moments later, he agreed. "Maybe they should come, Ginevra. Seriously, why don't you go visit your parents today, or maybe tomorrow? Bury the hatchet; it's time, don't you think?"

When she looked away nervously, he stroked her hand and continued softly, "It wasn't as if anything that happened was actually _their_ fault. No one should be separated from their family for so long."

She had no answer to that. Finally, she replied, "All right, I'll think about it."

"Do." Turning to his granddaughter, he asked, "And what does my little poppet have planned for this morning?"

"I want to ride my pony!" she practically demanded. When Ginny frowned at the bossy tone in her voice, the girl said contritely, "I mean, may I _please_ go ride my pony?"

"I don't see why not. Toddy!" he called. The house-elf arrived post-haste with a groveling bow.

"Yes, Master Malfoy?"

"My grandchild would like to ride her pony. Prepare the animal and have someone escort her about the grounds. Make sure she rides especially carefully; we don't want any mishaps."

"Yes, sir. Toddy will be seeing to it right away, sir," he answered, disappearing as quickly as he had arrived.

Noticing that she was not at all dressed in proper riding attire, Lucius took his wand and waved it in front of her.

"My basket!" she gasped, for it had vanished.

"Don't worry – it's safely put away for later," he assured her gently. "Now, Ginevra, doesn't she look dashing?"

Her mother looked on admiringly. But it wasn't the smartly-dressed youngster that she was watching; it was the charming wizard she couldn't take her eyes off of. She was amazed at how sweet and caring he was with her little girl. True, she _was_ his granddaughter – but would any other man ever treat either of her children with such generosity?

All at once, butterflies invaded her stomach. Perhaps marrying him _did_ make a lot of sense. That is, when she was ready.

"Run along now, darling. Enjoy your riding!" Lucius called to Rhiannon as she skipped out of the dining room and through the front door, letting it fall shut behind her.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Ginny asked as he sat down next to her and inched his chair very close to hers.

He scoffed, pretending to be perturbed. "Is that any way to greet the man who adores you? Where's my good morning kiss?"

Almost before the words were out of his mouth, she planted her lips firmly on his and kissed him soundly. She finally withdrew and asked him, "Better?"

"Much."

His heart racing, he gazed into her eyes and saw the love in them. But it was a love that he had no intention of returning – for if he did, it would be the ruin of him. He had nearly fallen in love with Narcissa, once, when she was carrying his son. Love was nothing but a weakness for another, and no Death Eater was ever permitted to be weak. _Ever._

No, what he felt for Ginevra was not love; it was lust, pure and simple. It was all part of a carefully-orchestrated duel he was guiding, one where there was no combat and only one of them could win – a duel that was going exactly how he had planned it ever since he set the events in motion that would eventually claim Narcissa's life. The goal of this duel was not to harm his opponent physically, but to get what he wanted.

And what Lucius Malfoy wanted more than anything right now was to see this young woman defy her parents by marrying him in a very public ceremony. It would bring those Weasleys down a notch or two; how would they sleep at night, knowing their only daughter was in _his_ bed, soon to be pregnant with his child? Victory would be oh, so sweet. This already felt better than casting the Cruciatus curse, and above all, it was completely legal.

Ever the master manipulator, he would own her, body and soul . . . and eventually, her mind. He tingled with anticipation as he glanced over her shoulder for a peek at the news, looking for a specific headline.

After dancing with her at the reception yesterday, Lucius had gone out of his way to meet up with Karl. He knew his old friend had a hard-on for anything in a skirt, as well as a love for gossip that no woman could rival.

He'd also noticed Rita Skeeter snooping around the outskirts of the dance floor, eyeing them voraciously, her quill flying at top speed. She had recently suffered some professional setbacks and was looking to get back on top of her game, and he was sure that whatever she saw, she would add her own inflection and print away, facts or no.

He could hardly wait to see what her imagination had drummed up.

The only other questions were which page the editor of the Daily Prophet decided to print it on, how outlandish Rita's remarks would be, and when Ginny noticed the article . . . how would _she_ react?

"Nice photographs," he commented on the newlyweds, even though he really didn't think either the bride or groom was terribly handsome.

Ginny nodded as her fingers slowly moved toward the top corner of page one, indicating she was almost ready to turn it. Anxious to move on, he reached out for the same corner and touched it just before she did. "May I?"

"Sure, go ahead," she replied distantly, as if she were being called back from some faraway place.

He scanned the columns of text as he flipped through the pages. Finally, he saw it, in the bottom right corner of page five: the very gossip he had hoped to spread by his behavior the day before. A surge of victory filled his chest.

_Well done, Rita._

He gasped. "Oh, dear."

"What is it?" Ginny asked, puzzled and genuinely concerned. Unlike most everyone else she knew, nothing the Daily Prophet printed ever took Lucius Malfoy by surprise.

"It's—"

He paused then sighed. This was something she had to read for herself; he slid the paper directly in front of her. "_This,_" he finished.

She grabbed it impatiently and began to peruse the page. When she caught the headline with their family's surname in it, her face went from curiosity to shock to anger in quick succession.

"Who does she think she _is?_ How could she imply such assumptions, such . . . bold-faced lies! And where did she get her facts? I know you didn't talk to her, and I certainly didn't. Oh, that's right; Rita Skeeter doesn't _rely_ on facts! Yet she calls herself a—" She read as sarcastically as possible, quoting from the article itself. "'_A consummate professional who prides herself on getting to the bottom of every story.'_ Ha! That's a load of dragon dung! I am going to their offices tomorrow and make them wish they'd never hired that lying sl—"

"Darling," Lucius quietly interrupted her diatribe, "it may be my fault."

"Yours?" she hissed. "How? You didn't grant her an interview, did you?"

"Well . . . not exactly." He hesitated briefly. "At Narcissa's funeral, do you remember seeing or meeting a witch with very pale skin and jet black hair? She thinks that keeping it dark makes her look younger, but instead, it accentuates every line on her face."

Ginny shook her head. "No, not – not really. I wasn't quite myself back then."

"She was the last person to leave. Verla von Krauss is her name, and I, er, spoke with her husband Karl yesterday. You see, Karl, he's . . . well, to put it bluntly, he's a horny old man who's got a thing for young witches. He saw you and I dancing together and made some lascivious comment about your beauty and your being so much younger than me." He stopped and pursed his lips. "I'm sure he was just jealous."

Still not seeing any connection to the article, she shrugged. "But what does that have anything to do with _this?" _

"Verla was one of Narcissa's roommates in school, along with an ambitious young girl named . . . Rita Skeeter. In fact, she and Verla are still very close."

Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. Could Lucius have inadvertently provided Rita with a scoop too scrumptious to resist? Ginny swallowed as her face went red. Her mind raced, grasping for memories of the day they laid Narcissa to rest. Had she spoken that day, even in casual conversation, to a dark-haired witch with a ghostly-white complexion? It seemed like that day was ages ago, almost as if it had happened in another lifetime.

Returning to the present, she asked him sharply, "Did you tell Karl we were engaged or in any way serious about each other?"

"No, of course not! He must have assumed that, based on what he saw. When he asked if we were a couple, I answered in very vague terms – not saying yes – but in case you agree to my proposal, not saying no either. He must have just . . . worked it out for himself."

After a slight pause, he stroked her hand and asked, "Was I wrong to do that, darling?"

She laughed nervously. "No, I suppose not. I guess it was all presumption on their part. That, and bad journalism. Not the first time for Rita – and it won't be the last."

"I could force them to print a retraction," Lucius offered as an act of penance, "if you want me to. The Malfoy name still counts for something in some circles."

Ginny considered it briefly then waved her hand and put it to her eyebrow. "No, the damage is done. That is, not that being engaged to you would be 'damage'; it's just that . . . I didn't want the world to know just yet, least of all, my family – all of whom are probably going through the roof right about now." She groaned as her face fell into her hands.

Feeling her disappointment, he cringed slightly as he stroked her arm. "I'm sorry this happened. I only want to make you happy."

When she didn't say anything, he cautiously broached the subject article alluded to. "So, have you given any more thought to what I asked you yesterday?"

She raised her head; her eyes were brimming with tears. Her thoughts rather incoherent, she didn't know how to express what she longed to tell him.

"I-I don't know if it's – well, if I _should_ say yes. Rita does make a valid point: we are related by marriage, and as such, I'm torn between the depth of the feelings I have for you and, er, you know, whether it's altogether . . . _proper." _She bit her lip and asked, "Do you know what I mean?"

He exhaled heavily and placed his hands purposefully on the table in front of him. The look on his face was a mixture of anguish, humiliation, and disappointment. Just seeing it made Ginny wish desperately that she could take back what she'd said, or perhaps say it differently. Yet she felt she _had_ to raise the issue; it needed to be discussed, for there were bound to be repercussions – things that involved people who lived beyond the walls of Malfoy Manor.

Staring at the contrast of his fingers against the dark mahogany of the table, he seethed and said slowly, "Are you saying that simply because my son was once your husband, you would consider marrying me somehow . . . _inappropriate?_ Or that other people would think it so?" As he spoke, his piercing eyes turned to hers. The fire in them penetrated her soul. She couldn't bear his gaze and looked away.

He pounded his fist on the table loudly.

"Is that **my** fault? Are you and I to suffer forever with this, this undeniable love, this unquenchable desire to be together, merely because of what other people _think?_ You accepted me! You want me; you gave yourself to me freely. It was so important to both of us that we—"

He stopped. Then he added very slowly for emphasis, "That we manipulated time to be together."

Lucius took her hands in his and said calmly, "Look at me. You are a free woman. I want you for my wife, and our getting married would be no more wrong than if you had married someone else. The fact that you were once my son's wife is irrelevant."

She glanced away from his penetrating stare. He concluded by stating, "Besides, I didn't think what other people thought would ever bother _you_. It's one of the things I admire most about your character."

When she finally found her voice, Ginny replied, "No, you're right. I _don't _care what people think. I was only thinking of . . . my family. I do still love them, you know."

"Which is all the more reason you should go visit them," he said, his tone peaceful and encouraging. "Talk to them. I'm sure everything can be set right. Personally, I think both of you are carrying this grudge thing a bit too far. You can't hold it against them forever."

Ginny sighed. "Okay. I'll go. But only when _I'm_ ready to. Now please stop asking me." He nodded.

"Oh, by the way, dear," he said as he took a plate and started to fill it with sausages, eggs, and fruit, "there was an owl earlier this morning. Bad news, I'm afraid. Severus Snape's funeral is on Wednesday morning. Are you up to going?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked as she refolded the paper and set it aside. "He and I became quite good friends during his last few years." He didn't respond; she read the rest of the paper as he ate his breakfast in silence.

~End of Chapter~

Notes: Thank you for reading. A review would be most appreciated.

Then in the next chapter: Ginny's family reacts. (You didn't think we'd skate by without hearing a peep out of the Weasleys, did you?) And then some other stuff will happen. :-P


	14. Chapter 13

Author Notes: At last, the chapter that took forever to write! I hope it was worth the wait. This one is quite long, with much more development and some interesting revelations. :-) Thank you, Persephone33, for helping me with your beta reading skills – welcome to my twisted little world-!

In this chapter: Back to Hogwarts.

**_Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 13_**

"Molly, we're here!"

Hermione arrived at the Burrow the following day long before dawn, her two sleepy-headed daughters in tow. The young girls, their eyes barely open, stumbled toward the kitchen. Not even the aroma of Mrs. Weasley's wonderful cinnamon raisin bread that was baking could rouse them.

"Good morning, girls," their surrogate grandmother greeted them as they walked into her kitchen. When Jamie and Lily mumbled their 'hullos', neither of them took particular notice that the red-haired witch didn't sound quite as cheerful as she usually did.

Their mother, however, could not miss it.

"Girls," she suggested, "why don't you go up to the empty room on the third landing and get a little more rest? You both seem very tired."

"Can't we play with Jocee and Artie first?" Lily asked hopefully as she fought down a yawn.

The older witch said, "I'm sorry, dears, but they're not here yet. I expect Katie will drop them off around 8:00. You might as well rest now, as your mother suggested." She could see the disappointment on their faces but said nothing more; instead, she gave Hermione a strange, sad little grimace, the meaning of which wasn't readily clear.

Concerned by her friend's demeanor, the young mother swiftly took charge. "Go upstairs and go to sleep. _Now._" The youngsters knew their mum was in no mood to be trifled with; they did as they were told and scurried up the crooked staircase. Once the door to Ginny's old room was closed, Hermione turned to face the table and found Molly in tears.

"What's wrong?" she asked her.

Of course, she knew what was wrong. It was that scandalous article. Hermione had wondered what effect Rita Skeeter's painful barbs would have on the Weasley household. As she sat helplessly watching her, another thought crossed her mind.

_Why wasn't she preparing to do battle with the Daily Prophet over those vicious lies? Or was she just too humiliated to even try?_

"Molly?" Hermione asked softly.

The red-haired witch sniffed as she wiped the tears that were leaking from her eyes. They were so like Ginny's. How many times had Hermione seen Ginny in this state? How often had she comforted _her_, either because Harry had once again ignored her or had favored Cho instead, no matter how hard she tried? It gave her an eerie sense of _déjà vu_.

Interrupting her thoughts, the matriarch replied in a shaky voice, "I'm sure you saw that – damn article." She gulped as a few more tears streamed down her face. Hermione reached out and patted her hand.

"It _was_ pretty horrid. My jaw just dropped."

"You have no idea the absolute havoc it's wreaked on our lives during the past 24 hours!"

She felt awful and could only sympathize. "I can imagine; I'm so sorry I couldn't be here. The girls and I were at my parents' house all day. Was it completely awful?"

Molly scoffed. "To say the least! You know how hot-tempered the boys are. Some of them were condemning Ginny, others accusing Rita of libel . . . You can guess what kind of diabolical plans the _twins_ had for that so-called reporter! If only—"

She couldn't go on, as if the words had become lodged in her throat. At length, Hermione prompted her as gently as possible, "If only what, Molly?"

Her lip began to quiver slightly. Finally, she blurted out, "If only it weren't true!" then broke into sobs.

"It-it _can't_ be. It's completely ridiculous! You know Rita; she'd sell her children's souls to turn a paper—"

"But it _is_ true. Mostly," she replied, taking a quick sip of her tea.

Astounded, Hermione shook her head. "How can you be sure?"

"Years ago, when Bill was still in Egypt, he learned a Fact Detection Charm. He picked it up from a German wizard who was living there at the time. It only works on printed material – handwritten documents are much harder to verify – but it can prove something up to 99.8 accurate. And that article had a 96 rate of being truthful."

Not daring to believe it, Hermione hesitated before going on. "Which means what, exactly?"

Molly sighed heavily. "Although the facts might have been embellished, there _are_ facts within it. Rita made up very few of those, if any."

The brunette witch simply couldn't believe it. The very _idea_ that Ginny and Lucius Malfoy were involved in some sort of romantic relationship . . . it was just unthinkable! Why would a pretty, vibrant young woman with so much heart even consider such a man – a man of questionable ethics, at best – to fall in love with? It boggled the mind.

Then it hit her. Was there a possible loophole in the Charm's abilities? "Wait a minute. Does that mean the article itself is true, or the person who wrote _believes_ it to be true?"

But the look on her careworn face said everything Hermione needed to hear. With a sad smile on her face, she offered, "Do you want to . . . talk about what happened yesterday?"

She swiped her eyes once more. "It was so awful," she said in barely a whisper, "I don't know if I can."

"Molly," the former Head Girl insisted, "talking about it _can_ help. Even if it doesn't change things, it might make you feel better."

She took a sudden, swift breath, and Hermione thought she might actually concede; knowing the woman's temper, she braced herself for the worst.

Instead, she simply said, "No, that's all right. You need to be getting on to work, my dear. Madam Pince needs your help."

They both stood up and hugged each other tightly. "What time will you be done working?"

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps 5:30 or so."

"You're welcome to join us for supper. We'd love to have you. I think Fred will be here – and most likely, Ron as well."

"That sounds wonderful."

A chicken was already simmering on the stove in preparation for their evening meal. The smell of it was inviting. Hermione instantly regretted her decision to have only had toast and orange juice for breakfast.

Mrs. Weasley gave her another nervous smile as they started to leave the kitchen.

She looked back for one last hug goodbye; suddenly, something on her peripheral vision caught her eye – something was amiss, but she couldn't immediately place what it was. Then she saw it clearly.

The clock. It was . . .

In a shaky voice, she asked, "Molly, what's happened to Ginny's hand on the Weasley clock? Is-is she all right?"

Finally, the floodgates burst open, and Mrs. Weasley flung herself at her, her thinly veiled reserve completely torn down. Hermione was startled to see the normally confident witch break into full-fledged sobs. Holding her so she wouldn't fall, she tried to calm her down, but to no avail. She hadn't seen her like this since Percy's funeral.

"Oh, Hermione," she gasped, "it's _horrible!_ Just when . . . just when our darling baby girl, our Ginevra, needs our protection more than ever—"

It seemed like she would never stop wailing; Hermione rocked her like a child and spoke to her gently. At last, the matronly witch managed to say what had her so distraught.

"When Arthur found out she was with h-him, he was so enraged that he . . . he tore it off the clock yesterday! And now – now we'll _never_ know what happens to her – or if something already has!"

* * *

By the time Hermione finally got to the Hogwarts Library, Madam Pince was quite worried. "I wondered if you were having trouble getting in the gates. Wasn't Hagrid there to meet you?" she asked frantically.

"Yes, Madam Pince, he was. Sorry I'm late, but I got caught up at the sitter's house. Please forgive me," she added with a look of contrition.

But that wasn't the whole truth. In fact, Hagrid had secretly lent her a key to the front gates one day last week. Not knowing what time she would arrive, and because he had animals to care for, she'd asked if she could borrow one. "Temporarily, of course." He was a bit apprehensive at first. But when she suggested that it be Charmed to work only for the next four weeks, require a password, and expire when Luna returned from her honeymoon, he handed it to her gladly with a smile on his face.

"Anything for you, 'Ermione," he had replied in his gruff but loving voice. After all, the dear girl had once helped save Buckbeak's life, had helped his half-brother, Grawp – not to mention she was Harry's widow. How could he ever say no to her?

Her tardiness soon forgotten, the librarian elaborated on the tasks she would be performing. "You are primarily here to help re-shelve items and to assist students in finding materials that would be helpful in their studies or for a particular essay." Within moments, she was aiding a group of second years in locating books on poison antidotes for a potions essay.

The work was easy; she took to it like a mermaid to water, and the rest of the morning flew by. At around 11:30, she was delighted to hear a familiar voice lilting through the air.

"Hello, Mrs. Potter!"

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall," her former protégé replied warmly. "It's nice to see you."

"Likewise, my dear. Are you enjoying working here?"

"Yes, I love it. I know it all so well, it's like second nature. But it does feel a lot different being on _this_ side of the table. There are so many memories here."

Gazing over her spectacles, Minerva smiled at her kindly. "Good ones, I hope?"

"Mostly," came the nondescript reply.

Her old teacher caught her meaning and smiled resignedly. Then she asked, "You are planning to come down to the Great Hall for lunch, aren't you, Hermione?"

"Now that you mention it, I am rather hungry. Well – starving, actually."

"Come on, then! Lunch will be on the tables soon. Irma, you are welcome to join us, of course," she added as an aside to the librarian.

The woman blinked like an owl, looking at Minerva as if she had taken complete leave of her senses for even mentioning such a ludicrous idea. "What?! And leave all these books unattended?"

The deputy headmistress looked at Hermione and rolled her eyes.

"Irma – they'll be fine," she said with a rather annoyed sigh.

It had never really occurred to Hermione before, but she couldn't ever recall seeing Madam Pince at a meal in the Great Hall. "So you don't just – lock up the library and leave?"

She gasped in response as her hand flew reflexively to the frilly neckline of her robes. "With so many crafty little witches and wizards lurking about? Never! I always eat here. You two go on by yourselves."

Her coworker shrugged. "Suit yourself, then. Are you ready, Hermione?" Sharing an amused smile, the two of them left the library, eager to catch up on news from each other's lives.

At first, they discussed staffing changes, old classes that had been dropped, and of course, Harry and Hermione's precious little daughters. As the old friends walked down the corridor, the younger one made a rather bold suggestion. "Professor McGonagall, I hate to ask, but . . . I really need to talk with you. Privately. Could we please have lunch in your office?"

"Yes, if you like. I'll make us some sandwiches, and you can fix up the tea."

"Thank you, Professor. I hate to be so much trouble."

"No trouble at all, my dear. I can always make time for you. And Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not your teacher or Head of House anymore. Please, call me Minerva."

In no time, they were dining on cold roast beef sandwiches and enjoying a comfortable exchange about Hermione's life since she left Hogwarts. When she began talking about her children, Professor McGonagall asked if they were staying at her parents' while she was working.

"No, they're with Molly Weasley." It was a sharp reminder of the unsettling encounter she'd had with Ron's mother earlier that morning. "Speaking of the Weasleys, were you simply aghast at that hurtful article in the Daily Prophet over the weekend?"

Her companion sneered. "The one written by that wretched Rita Skeeter, implying that Ginny might possibly marry her late husband's father? What utter rubbish! Someone ought to take that woman's quill and shove it—"

"Well, actually . . . it looks like there may be grains of truth to it." Seeing her mouth fall open, Mrs. Potter explained about the Fact Detection Charm and how it charm worked.

"Are you _serious?!_ Ginevra Weasley and—"

Her emotions running very high, Hermione couldn't stop herself from interrupting. "I know! It's incredible. First, she chose Draco, and now – his loathsome, detestable father! If it _is_ true, then the way she acted at Luna's Hen Night and at the wedding the next day . . . Do you think she's under the Imperius?"

"She _must_ be! But it's always so hard to prove. About the only way is Veritaserum in a controlled environment. And then, there are Memory Charms and the like – all sorts of ways to hide illicit acts. Besides, I wonder if Ginny isn't strong enough to fight Imperius."

"She's not," Hermione said flatly.

"How can you be sure? I mean, it is very rare _not_ be affected by it, but still, it's not impossible."

"But the att—"

She paused momentarily then started again. "The attack on her. Remember? The night we lost Harry? It was how – _whoever_ he was – was able to . . . m-manipulate her and commit the atrocities he did."

She couldn't even say it without practically bursting into tears. Regardless of their feud, she still felt like Ginny was the sister she never had; they had been close for years. She felt sad for her old friend, and for herself, and the way things had turned out, sad that they couldn't grieve together and support one another, as they should have – as they _would_ have, were the circumstances different.

"Hermione," her old professor said, breaking into her private thoughts. "Is there something else you want to talk about?"

"I was wondering about Professor Snape's funeral. Do you think Madam Pince would – allow me some time off Wednesday morning so I can go to it?"

"Of _course_, you can go. Most the faculty and staff will be there, so the students will have the morning off." She added with a slight smirk, "And much to Irma's chagrin, the library _will_ be closed." Despite the rather somber mood, they shared a soft chuckle then turned to their dessert.

"It's all so tragic," Hermione remarked. "I heard one rumor that they suspect a Muggle attacked him."

"Oh, that's highly unlikely. Just the typical anti-Muggle sentiment that the Purebloods espouse."

"That's what I thought, too. Rumor has it there were no bullets, no rope, no evidence of any Muggle weapons at all. Do they have _any_ leads in the case?"

"Not as far as I know. According to Mad-Eye Moody, Marcus Flint's been assigned to it. Given his loyalty to Slytherin House, it shouldn't take him long to build up a list of suspects."

They finished the last of their pudding then cleared off their eating space. Hermione rose to her feet and dusted the crumbs off her robes. "Thank you, Professor McGonagall – I mean, Minerva. I'm sure I'll see you around over the next few weeks."

"Not at all. It was my pleasure."

The younger witch started to go, then doubled-back halfway out the door. "You know, maybe there is something else you can help me with."

"I'll try, my dear. What is it?"

"Do you know someone named Brian? A former student, perhaps?"

"Brian who?"

"That's just it – I don't know. He seems to be a mutual friend of Ginny and Neville's, but for the life of me, I can't think who he might be."

Professor McGonagall was puzzled by her question. "If you don't even know who he is, then why is he so important?"

"Just as the Longbottoms were leaving for their honeymoon, Neville told Ginny that he had a letter for her from Brian and that he was sorry he'd forgotten to give it to her. She acted like it was no matter and that she would get it when he got back, but for whatever reason, he seemed rather distressed by this. I just thought that letter might be very important."

"But if it was, wouldn't he have stopped to give it to her?"

"I think he meant to, but he didn't have it with him. And with all the excitement of the day, and the other boys teasing him about – well, you know, being married and still being a 'virgin' – before he had time to give it another thought, he and Luna were riding off in their carriage. At least, that's how I saw it."

Minerva looked at her thoughtfully. "Brian, you say? He knows both of them, but _you_ don't know him? Well, there has to be some connection."

Hermione nodded and smirked. "But what?"

"I wish I knew. I'm sorry, but I don't."

As she opened the door once more, the professor reminded her encouragingly, "Hermione, you are very bright. Fortunately for me, the Sorting Hat saw your bravery as well as your brilliance, and I was lucky to have you in Gryffindor. Don't worry; you'll find him." Then the two parted company.

Hermione muttered to herself as she walked back toward the library, "I only hope I'm in time."

* * *

At Severus Snape's funeral, Ginny looked around the room. She had never seen so many Slytherins in one place, except perhaps during her Quidditch career at Hogwarts. It was a time when she had thought that all Slytherins were evil, conniving, and snotty. In fact, back then, if someone had said to her that one day she would be sitting among them – blending in with them, even – she would have laughed in their face. She could never have imagined that she would willingly attend Snape's funeral and that she would actually _feel_ something other than a sense of relief that the hateful old bastard was gone.

But that was exactly the case. A few moments earlier, she had hugged and consoled a sobbing Pansy Parkinson. When a somber Vincent Crabbe took his girlfriend's small, shaking hand and guided her toward a seat, Ginny was taken aback by his kindness. They had all lost a dear friend, and she too felt their loss.

Of course, there were several Gryffindors seated across the aisle. Her parents were there, along with a few of her brothers. Hermione and a smattering of their former housemates had also come to say goodbye to the man they had once reviled but later learned to respect and perhaps admire. She tried not to cry, to remain stalwart, determined not to let her old friends see her as weak or defeated. Not many of them knew the sacrifices Professor Snape had made to protect Harry, a young wizard whose arrogance he found unbearable and often resented. Regardless of how much she herself hated Harry, she felt a twinge of remorse – no, _regret_ – that in the end, Snape's efforts had all been for naught. Ginny clung to Lucius and nestled in the crook of his arm – the one that, ironically, bore the ghastly mark that haunted her about his past. When he turned and kissed her hairline tenderly, she faced the other side defiantly.

It was a moment of clarity for her: _These_ were her people now.

Staring blankly into a sea of orange, she saw her mother looking back at her – her eyes were tired as she locked her gaze on her daughter. Tears flowed steadily down her softly-lined face; Ginny wondered whether she was mourning for the man in the casket or for her.

Arthur wouldn't even look at her. His cheeks were flushed, and the way he was twisting his mouth . . . he was rarely angry, but when he was, he was worse at Ron than hiding it. He was _furious._

As soon as the eulogy was over, Ginny excused herself, walked directly to the loo, and locked the door. Casting a Silencing Charm, she began to cry loudly. She had fought to keep it in, but in the end, it seemed she couldn't help herself. She told herself resolutely that she was crying for Severus, and she was . . . at least, in part. Loath as she was to admit it, it was painfully obvious that she was crying for the same reason her mother was – and that her father wouldn't acknowledge her presence with even a passing glance.

She stiffened slightly then, taking her wand, cast a Recovery Charm that hid the remaining traces of her crying and sniffling. When she found Lucius in the hall, she latched onto his arm and said firmly, "Let's go." They hurried out the door and walked toward the Apparition point. As they did, a familiar voice called after them.

"Ginny! Mrs. Malfoy! Please, wait . . . Lucius, stop her!"

It was Marcus Flint. He was panting as he ran to catch them up. "Hullo, Ginny," he said, still slightly out of breath.

"Marcus," she acknowledged him rather curtly.

Lucius wrapped his arm around her shoulder protectively, almost possessively, and said, "What is this all about, Flint? Ginevra has had a very trying morning. Please, just state your business so we can leave."

The younger wizard cleared his throat before answering.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. I just wanted to see if she, er, might be able to answer some questions about – well, about what might have happened to Professor Snape. I've been assigned to head up the investigation, and with her being one of the last to see him alive, I just thought—"

"You thought what? That you would harass her at his funeral?" Lucius said with a cold sneer. "Severus was not only my friend, but Ginevra's and my late wife's as well. Have you no sense of decency? Can't you just leave her alone for a few days?"

As he went on, Marcus's face grew paler until Ginny finally spoke.

"No, Lucius, it's all right. I can answer some questions. I'd like to help. But can we do it at another time – tomorrow, perhaps, or Friday? I can come down to your office—"

"No. She needs a few days." Lucius ordered, "Come to the Manor on Saturday afternoon for tea, four o'clock. I want to be there, in case she needs my support."

She smiled at him demurely, grateful for the offer. "Thank you," she whispered as she softly touched his face. For the briefest of seconds, he smiled back. The exchange made Marcus Flint feel rather uncomfortable. He looked away and cleared his throat once more.

"Yes. A few days of mourning for a man so great does seem in order. Well, then . . . I'll come to visit this weekend. Goodbye." He left to rejoin Millicent and assist her into their carriage. Soon after the Flints drove off, Ginny and Lucius Apparated together; once they had vanished, several pairs of eyes, ranging in emotion from sad to angry, were riveted to the spot they had last stood.

* * *

"It's just not right. We've got to _do_ something," George started in once more.

"I know, but what? She's a grown woman; she can make her own choices, however bad they may be."

"True, but she needs our help, Fred – now more than ever."

"More than when she was lying there, near death, in the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Oh, shut it, Ron!"

Such was the conversation on the way home in the Weasley's flying Ford Anglia. After being in residence in the Forbidden Forest for five years, Hagrid had finally managed to subdue the car and get it back to the rightful owner. The half-giant was only too happy to share the story of how he did it with anyone who would listen. Mr. Weasley was forever in his debt.

The bickering continued as they neared their home at Ottery St. Catchpole. Molly felt utterly exhausted. She had just about had enough of the discussion between her three youngest sons and their friend Hermione but felt too wretched to say anything to stop their banter. Her stomach was in knots. If only her daughter's name were still on the clock . . . but if it was, would the hand be pointing toward 'Mortal Peril' again?

Meanwhile, Arthur's fingers were wrenching tightly around the steering wheel, as if it were Lucius Malfoy's neck. Hermione thought he seemed intent on strangling it with his bare hands. She was slightly unnerved by the sight.

"Mr. Weasley?" she spoke hesitantly, ignoring the arguments that were by now spewing all around her. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Wha-?" It was like he had been in a trance and was awakened abruptly. "I'm sorry, Hermione, what did you say?" he asked, sounding tense and not at all like his normal, cheerful self.

It was dreadful, seeing two people she loved so much in such a state. She didn't know what to think, except that George was right: they _had_ to do something to help Ginny.

Her choices were tearing her family apart.

* * *

As agreed, Marcus Flint arrived in time for tea that Saturday afternoon. He gave his cloak to Toddy, was shown into the parlor, and helped himself to tea and a biscuit. At first, he and Mrs. Malfoy made small talk, mostly about Millicent and the children. When he mentioned that Pansy and Vincent were going to a gardening show in Provence this weekend, she was pleasantly surprised.

"I'm glad things are going so well for them."

He shrugged his shoulders. "I guess so. They do seem to be fond of each other, and I think he's looking to settle down. You know, to give the boys some stability. She's great with them."

Just then, Lucius entered the room. Marcus stood and extended his hand. "Good afternoon, sir."

"Hello, Marcus. Glad you could join us. What have I missed?"

"Nothing, sir. We were just talking about Vincent Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson. They seem to be getting pretty close these days."

Mr. Malfoy stirred his tea as he observed, "Yes, I understand they have been seen together quite a bit recently. Perhaps there will be another wedding announcement soon." As he said this, he raised his cup to his lips; looking over the brim at his young lover, he locked his eyes on hers, causing her cheeks to color just slightly. She turned to Marcus.

"You wanted to speak to me about Severus. What do you want to know?" Ginny asked, her tone rather abrupt. The detective noticed the sharp change and briefly wondered if anything was wrong.

He cleared his throat, withdrew a pad of parchment and quill, and dipped it once into his unspillable ink pot. "Yes. I promise to be brief." He coughed once more then began his inquiry.

"Mrs. Malfoy, when did you last see Severus Snape alive, to the best of your recollection?" After he said this, he studied her intently, as if he was trying to pry the answers out of her by sheer will. Lucius found his mannerisms most amusing.

"Let me think, now. It would have been about . . . what day did you return home, dear?" she asked Lucius. They never mentioned his release, as such; it was always as if he had been away on a long vacation.

"Well, I don't recall the _exact_ day. Sometime in late March last year, I believe."

She paused and furrowed her eyebrows. "Was it that late? I thought it was in February or very early in March." She lowered her voice and half-whispered to him, "Don't you remember the day Draco was killed? March fifth? And since we'd had plans for dinner with the Parkinsons the following Friday night to celebrate your return home – how we all went, in spite of everything?"

"Oh, you're right. I remember now. It was a bit earlier than that. Go on, my dear."

Turning her focus back to the investigation, she said decidedly, "To the best of my recollection, I would have to say the latter part of February last year. Narcissa and I always laughed a great deal when Severus was about. He always had us in stitches."

"I see," Marcus replied vaguely, his eyes never leaving his parchment as he scribbled rapidly with the quill. "And did he mention to you that he might be going somewhere or doing anything special over the next fortnight?"

"No. In fact, he said he would come to the Manor as soon as he could. Frankly, we were very surprised that we didn't get an owl from him by the end of March. We were both worried about him, my mother-in-law especially. She wrote to him, but both of her letters were returned unopened, presumably undeliverable, or maybe he . . . " She paused.

"Yes?" Marcus prompted.

Then she said with a wistful smile, "Well, I rather wondered that since her husband had returned, perhaps Severus thought he might be in the way so he stopped visiting. Still, we both thought it strange. Why would he refuse Narcissa's letters coldly?"

"She had written to him? And you both expected him to return?"

"Of course, we did," she replied with a soft snort. "He and Lucius had known each other for years. Naturally, we thought he might drop by soon after Mr. Malfoy returned home."

"But he _didn't_ visit you again. Is that right?"

Growing weary of this line of questioning, Ginny snipped at him. "No. He didn't. Look, I've told you all I know. He and Narcissa were close, he was a good friend of mine, and we did not see him since late February last year. I'm sorry, but that really is _all_ I can tell you about it," she stated firmly.

Marcus relented and pocketed his notes. "All right. If there's nothing else—"

"She said there wasn't," Lucius answered for her haughtily as he passed her a cup. "If you are quite finished, Mr. Flint, I'd like to ask _you_ a question, if I may?" Marcus nodded, nonverbally prompting his host. "I was rather wondering what does the Ministry know so far about this case? Do they have any strong leads or any witnesses?"

"Well, not as such. They are sending someone to see Macnair. Do you know him?"

The blond wizard gazed at his fingernails casually and replied, "His name is familiar to me, but I don't think I've ever met him. Is he a suspect?" Ginny continued to nurse her tea as she looked on silently.

Marcus stole a quick glance around the room then said softly, "Well, he has been known to dabble in . . . illegal potions, from time to time. They're looking into his past and hoping to get him to cooperate – you know, drop a few names, perhaps – in exchange for a lighter sentence."

This seemed to pique Lucius's interest. "Really?" he asked with a slight raise of his eyebrow. "Was he arrested? I thought he was a Ministry employee, or once was. Do they have any specific charges against him?"

"Well, not any _charges_, per se – but some suspicious ingredients were found in his home. They're being examined now. Probably nothing will come of it, though; some things used in the most forbidden potions are also found in everyday, mundane items, like cake and candlesticks. So they may have a hard time making anything stick." He added hastily, "Of course, I tell you this in the strictest confidence; I shouldn't even be discussing it outside the office. Can't even tell Millie, and she's _dying_ to know – but she does gossip. I can trust you, right?"

"How long have I known you, Marcus?" He said with a laugh, "Long before Draco made the Quidditch team at Hogwarts, you and he were practicing on the grounds here. I think you can trust me."

The room fell silent except for the ticking of a Swiss clock on the mantle. Toddy knocked on the door then slipped in. He quickly moved to Mr. Malfoy's side and whispered something in a voice so low that even Ginny could not hear him.

"Marcus, my boy, I'm sorry, but I must go now. I have business to attend to, as the house-elf just reminded me – documents that need my attention before tomorrow morning. Will you excuse me?"

The younger wizard nodded mutely as he tried to swallow the cake he was nibbling on as quickly as possible without choking on it. He waved as the master of the house left the parlor. Lucius exchanged a look and a faint smile with Ginny before departing.

"You two seem to be getting on well," Marcus observed. "But of course, I guess you have a lot in common."

She smiled. "Yes, we do. And we do like each other. It comforts me, having him around."

"He's so much like his son. I mean, if Draco had lived to – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to – well, you know what I mean, right?" he finished nervously.

"No, it's all right. At first, it was a little uncanny, the similarities between them, but then, it . . . somehow, he made me feel better, just by being here. Does that make sense?"

Marcus seemed to understand. A short while later, he gathered his cloak and wished her and her family a pleasant evening.

* * *

"So you believe your late wife and Severus were lovers?" Lord Voldemort asked him smugly.

Lucius was enraged. "I've long suspected it, based on her behavior when I first arrived home. The way she held me, how she wouldn't look directly at me as we made love, the way she—

"When we were younger, she used to stare at me, as if my eyes held her hypnotized. But then, after I came back home, she would close her eyes and murmur strange things; even though it was my name she cried out, I could sense she wasn't _with_ me. She wasn't thinking of me at all. And as time went on, she seemed more depressed . . . less pleased that I was home." He laughed mirthlessly. "It all makes sense now."

His master said nothing, waiting for him to continue. When Lucius did speak, it was as if he'd had a revelation of sorts.

"You know, Snape's initial response to me when I saw him that day was, at best, guarded and defensive. I should have known right then the bastard had been fucking my wife. Had I known for sure, I would have killed him just for that! But I needed that the potion; I couldn't leave without it. And when the bastard wouldn't even _make_ it for me, then I—"

"You did the right thing, Lucius. And it sounds as if the Ministry doesn't know about your visit to Macnair. Not yet, anyway. You must _Crucio_ him, and soon." The Dark Lord exhaled then uttered, "I've often wondered if his stupidity wouldn't be our undoing.

"Give yourself an alibi, something ironclad that cannot be denied. And make sure you have lots of witnesses who see someone else torturing him." He took out a small packet and displayed a few strands of dark hair. "This is from your sister-in-law, Bella. She's in hiding somewhere on the continent; believe me, they won't find her. Between this and your Time Turner, that should be enough to fool anyone."

End of Chapter

Notes: If you find it strange that Snape could actually be witty, I was thinking more of the Snape that Harry doesn't know. Remember that this fic was started before HBP came out. Given what has been revealed by JKR (and surmised by fans) about Snape's rather staunch upbringing following the release of HBP, making him have _any_ sense of humor may seem to be stretching the boundaries of his character. So although Canon!Snape may not be amusing to Harry (or to anyone), I just wanted to portray him as having a sense of humor that he enjoyed sharing with Narcissa because she brought that out in him.

Sorry for the extremely long wait between the previous chapter and this one. School started up, work got busy, throw in a couple of holidays and a neighborhood party (at _our_ house), and you have my life since July. I also wrote a story for the D/G fic exchange at Livejournal. (Once they reveal the authors' names, I will be posting my fic at various sites. You can find them through the Livejournal link on my author page. After that, I had to find a new beta reader, as mine got too busy to help anymore. So things got pretty hectic for me. Next time, it shouldn't take nearly this long. (Do I say this at the end of every chapter?)

Thank you for reading. Reviews would be appreciated!


	15. Chapter 14

Author Notes: Thank you, Persephone33, for being my beta reader. :-)

In this chapter: Couples and cousins.

**_Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 14_**

"Oh, this one's nice," the young woman said admiringly, picking up the ginger plant and displaying it for her husband's examination. Impressed once more by her uncanny ability to pick out a healthy specimen from dozens of samples, he nodded his approval. She was perfect in every way – regardless of what she wore on her head.

Neville didn't pay any mind to the simply awful hats Luna had worn for most of their honeymoon. Today's was a garish, bright orange hat with an oversized floppy brim. Her odd sense of style was a trait he had found quirky when they had first met, but now it truly endeared her to him. It was part of what made her Luna. Besides, he was in love; all he saw was her beauty and the way the yellow of the sunlight made her hair shine like gold underneath its edges.

"Yes. It is. Very nice." Never taking his eyes off her, he leaned in and kissed his wife. She tried to set the plant in the basket draped over her arm, but she had closed her eyes and accidentally put it on a nearby table.

It was a ghastly mistake, for that particular table contained a display of Turkish Snapdragons. They were similar to snapdragons that were raised by Muggles. However, the flowers on the Turkish variety resembled miniature dragon heads, and when agitated, they would snap their tiny jaws and spit out fire.

Thinking it was being provoked by the innocuous ginger plant, one of the young Snapdragons thrashed and shot out a flurry of hot sparks. The compact fireball hit the backside of an elderly witch who just happened to be standing next to the table. She screamed when its tiny mouth bit down on her protruding bum.

Neville suddenly realized it was probably a colossal waste of time to try and squeeze in some shopping for herbs and plants while on one's honeymoon. It was just too hard to focus on the task at hand. But it was too late – the damage was done, and it seemed like it would never stop.

The irate woman swatted her hand blindly behind her. Finding the source of her irritation, she drew her wand and swiftly subdued the plant. She looked around wildly. Then drawing even more attention to herself, she shrieked, "Well, no wonder! Turkish Snapdragons! What kind of dunderhead – _you!"_

She was pointing directly at the terribly embarrassed groom. "This is all your fault!" she bellowed. He watched in horror, wanting to crawl under the table, _any_ table; famed herbologist or not, he still respected any witch who was old enough to be his grandmother.

The hefty woman strode over and slapped the poor young man's cheek as hard as she could. A half-second later, Luna decided she could no longer watch in silence. She rose to her husband's defense: The woman simply forgot was she was ranting about. She suddenly remembered she had left a kettle on the boil at her friend's house just down the street from the gardening show. Setting down the three plants she had intended to buy, she promptly left the show without another word.

The newlyweds breathed a sigh of relief. Neville retrieved the ginger plant; miraculously, it was apparently no worse for the wear. Carefully placing it in Luna's basket, he patted her sun-warmed hair. "Let's go," he suggested. She nodded in agreement.

But the fiasco wasn't over just yet.

"Monsieur Longbottom!" a French-accented voice called from across the crowded yard. "You know your mademoiselle will 'ave to pay for what she made the lady forget to buy."

It was Gabrielle Delacour. Her lips in a wry smile, she hugged him warmly and kissed each of his cheeks in the French style. "Bon jour, Neville! 'Ow are you? And you 'ave a girlfriend! 'Oo is she?"

He gave the young French beauty a goofy grin and corrected her. "This is _Mrs._ Longbottom, my wife. Luna, I'd like you to meet Gabrielle Delacour."

"Oh! You are married? 'Ow wonderful!" She hugged him once more then turned to hug the bride. "When did zees 'appen?"

The other witch's eyes lit up. "Delacour? Why, you must be Bill Weasley's sister-in-law. You share Fleur's striking good looks." The younger girl blushed slightly and bit her lip at Luna's honesty.

"Thank you, Madam."

"Longbottom?" another familiar voice said, joining the conversation. "I thought you were on your honeymoon."

Neville looked up and saw Vincent Crabbe. Pansy Parkinson was on his arm and smiling graciously. "Hello, Neville. Luna."

"Hullo. Actually, we're still on our honeymoon. It's just that, well, this show only comes along once every few years, so you know, you hate to miss it . . . it's crucial for any serious herbologist."

"Neville, 'oo are your friends?" Gabrielle chimed in.

He introduced his former classmates. A brief moment of slight awkwardness passed between the two wizards. Sensing their slight discomfort, Gabrielle shared some hints as to where the best buys of the show could be found. As the others talked, Luna thought back on her wedding day and said to Pansy, "I do hope you enjoyed the food at our reception."

"Yes, very much. The whole day was lovely."

"That's good. I didn't see either of you for most of the afternoon, and I wondered if maybe you had taken ill. Did you think there was something strange in the crab dip? It tasted like it might have had a pinch of Jakesong in it, and you know how that can upset a person's stomach. I felt a little bit queasy myself after eating it. But I felt much better after I had some champagne."

By now, Vincent had stopped listening to Gabrielle and Neville and exchanged a glance with Pansy. She grinned and blushed modestly. "No, we were fine, actually. We had to leave early to pick up Vincent's boys."

"Pardon, mademoiselle?" a man said in a thick accent.

"Oh, excuse me," Gabrielle said to her friends, "I 'ave another customer to attend to. Good to see you again, Neville. Nice to meet you, Luna. Au revoir, Monsieur and Madam—"

"Crabbe. A-and Miss Parkinson," Vincent added, indicating his girlfriend.

The younger witch nodded. "Oui. Enjoy ze rest of ze show, and your stay in Provence. Au revoir!"

The former schoolmates continued browsing through the various aisles, discussing the various herbs and plants and their properties. The two wizards were soon arguing about how to make Strengthening Solution and whether one was supposed to add the salamander's blood before putting in the pomegranate juice or after. When Vincent reminded Neville of the disastrous results Potter had had when he had switched the order of these ingredients in one of their Potions classes, the Gryffindor was a bit stunned. The two had long had a professional respect for each another, but this took him by surprise.

"How could you even _remember_ something like that?" he asked without realy thinking. But instead of taking offense, the other wizard shrugged casually. Neville then suggested the two couples meet up for dinner that night.

They had a pleasant evening. It was mostly spent exchanging theories about plants and potions over a meal of fresh seafood. Each man learned little tips he didn't know and was grateful for the advice. Pansy interjected her two Knuts worth when they were discussing the careful handling of Bubotubers. Luna, sharing her own unique brand of information that her father regularly posted in _The Quibbler _as if they were well-known facts, reminded the others that Blibbering Humdingers love to eat Bubotubers.

"It's true," she said when Pansy snorted softly into her glass of sparkling water. "People who grow Bubotubers really need to keep a sharp watch out for them, or their whole crop could be destroyed overnight." Neville just smiled and took his wife's hand.

After they had finished their dessert and café au lait, the two couples parted ways. The Longbottoms went to their hotel, while the other two Apparated back to England. While Pansy would have liked to stay in France one more day, she said they had plans to take Vincent's boys to Rhiannon and Lucas Malfoy's birthday party tomorrow.

While Luna was brushing her hair before bed that night, she suddenly gasped and turned to her husband. "Oh! You should have given Vincent the letter for Ginny. He could have taken it to the party tomorrow."

It seemed like a good idea, but Neville frowned.

"Yeah, I thought of that. But for some reason, Brian asked me to deliver it to her personally. That's why I haven't bothered sending it by owl."

"Oh, I see." She finished her brushing then dimmed the lights for bedtime.

* * *

Lucius looked up at the sound of the doorknob turning in the handle. When Ginny entered the room, he set his book on the oval table in front of him. "How is she?" he asked with concern.

She sighed as she sat down next to him on the fine leather sofa. "Fine. She's sleeping."

"That's a relief," he said, smiling faintly.

"I had to give her a child's dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion."

The young mother sounded tired herself. But then, having birthday parties for small children was rather exhausting, even with house-elves around to do most of the work. She rubbed her eyes. It had been a very stressful day, what with all the children running around, some of them performing accidental magic – although she doubted that all of it had been purely accidental. The incident with Rhiannon only made it worse.

Lucius stared silently into the fire. The crisp crackling of the wood and the dancing flames held his gaze for several moments. Ginny, too, fell under their hypnotic spell. She watched as the blaze transformed itself into new patterns, fading slightly on one side, only to be reborn on the other. She was mesmerized by its vibrant glow.

Without a word, he edged nearer to her. He placed a hand on her thigh, and when he did, she looked up at him and smiled wearily.

"What do you think could have happened to frighten her so?"

"I don't know, exactly. All Rhiannon said was that she saw a monster. I thought maybe she meant a ghoul, until she said it had red eyes and a mean laugh. Can't imagine who would – wait a minute . . . "

Ginny chuckled to herself and shook her head. "Of course! It had to be one of the Flint boys, just having a laugh. They're always up to something, just like the twins." She laughed again, mostly at her own stupidity. "Those imps! I should give them a good scare myself next time we're at their house. Imagine, picking on a little girl who's too small to defend herself."

"It must have been," Lucius said, placing a consoling hand on her shoulder. "We certainly don't have any ghouls or monsters at the manor. Now, come here," he said as he pulled her close to him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and began stroking her arm. She relaxed into him, amazed at how the little things he did never failed to bring her comfort.

She was right where she belonged.

He seemed to sense what she was feeling and lifted her chin. When their eyes met, he said, "I love you, Ginevra Malfoy."

The way he said her name, so reverently, that it made her heart ache. . . . like he thought it the most beautiful sound in the world. It made her pulse beat faster and her face flush. When he dipped his head slowly and kissed her, she felt a fire burning her, threatening to devour her from the inside out.

_How could I ever deny him?_

"Yes," she breathed between kisses, "yes, Lucius. I will. I will marry you. I love you so much, and I don't want to live another day without you in my arms, in my heart – in my life."

Lucius turned to face her, and holding her at arm's length, he looked at her in wonder. For a moment, Ginny thought he might cry. But he simply said, "You have made me the happiest of men. I will adore you always. You won't regret this, my love." As he kissed her tenderly, she felt a surge of magic flow between them. It was unlike anything she had ever felt in her life.

When he finally broke the kiss, he said in a voice that sounded almost victorious: "And now we are one."

They made love in his room that night with renewed energy. Ginny could barely grasp how loving he was with her. He was passionate, yet tender. She had not known ardor like this for such a long time. And yet, it wasn't completely unfamiliar to her; she knew she had felt this way before, once. It was somewhere in the recesses of her mind, but in a place she couldn't go. Her lover was on fire, his thirst for her unquenchable. It was heavenly.

She realized he must have taken some sort of potion to be able to go on that way. It flattered her that he wanted to spend so much time pleasing her, enjoying her, loving her. As the morning's first glow came slipping through the curtains, they both collapsed in exhaustion and slept for hours.

* * *

Stella tapped her toe impatiently. Her cousin was late – again. She couldn't fathom how a person who had magic at his disposal could _ever_ be late. Yet he was, more often than not.

To pass the time, she alternated between perusing the menu again and counting the beads of rain collecting on the window at the front of the noisy café. She'd been hoping for an end to this early winter storm – she was on-call that night – but unfortunately, it showed no signs of slowing.

It was a dreary Sunday afternoon. She had looked forward to having tea with Brian. But when she rose that morning to gloomy skies, she regretted suggesting they go out. _If only my flat weren't so small,_ she thought. Besides, his tended to be filled odd aromas, resulting from any number of experiments; the effects of which she wasn't sure were always entirely safe.

When her cousin came into view at last, she waved her hand to flag him down. He caught her motioning for him and quickly came indoors, joining her at the small round table.

"Afternoon, Stella. Sorry I'm late," he said in way of greeting as he bent down to hug her. She met him halfway up and returned the gesture.

"I'll never understand why you're always late for our meetings, Brian. You're a wizard, for God's sake," she added in a fierce whisper. "And by the way, your tea's gone cold."

While she continued to chastise his lack of punctuality, he discreetly warmed his cup. "So what was it this time? A flat tire?"

He smirked at her. "Ha, ha. I couldn't find my notes from last week, and I couldn't exactly owl them to you later on. Your neighbors might start to wonder about you."

"They already do. I have no social life; my only friends are you, two aging cats, and a rather strange red-haired girl who comes to visit me, on average, twice a year." She paused to take a sip of her tea. "Besides, couldn't you have just, er, found them and then had them delivered here – you know, _magically?"_ she asked, saying the last word in barely a whisper.

"You mean Summon them? No, I couldn't have done that. For _Accio_ to work, you need to know exactly where an object is. You need to be able to visualize it in its spot – very clearly – to call it to you. Besides, seeing folders fly through the air does tend to cause Muggles to stare."

Stella cleared her throat nervously. Rolling her eyes in the direction of the next table over, she hissed, _"Sort of like what you're doing right now?"_

The two teenage Muggle girls who were seated beside them were staring at him, wide-eyed, their mouths agog. "Oh! Hello, there," Brian said to them with a little innocent wave of his fingers.

His cousin explained to them with a kindly smile, "It's all right, my dears. My brother. He just got released from Bedlam. Still having a spot of trouble with reality. He'll be fine." Both girls blushed then quickly turned back to their plate of chocolate scones.

"Now," Stella continued rather brusquely, "let's get to work, shall we?" She leaned over to one side and swept her case off the floor and up into her lap. Withdrawing three folders, she placed them in the middle of the table, rearranging other objects so that everything would fit in the small area between them.

Stuffing another biscuit in his mouth, Brian asked, "Wha's aw 'is?"

"Research," she answered a bit tersely. "Weeks and _weeks_ of it."

"Where'd you get all of it?"

"Internet." Seeing his confused expression, she shook her head. "Never mind. I'll show it to you sometime."

Even though he was born to Muggle parents, Brian had immersed himself in the wizarding culture once he got to Hogwarts. He loved everything about their world. The only modern device he had was the mobile phone Stella insisted he have – and only because the Floo system scared the living hell out of her.

She opened the middle folder and flipped a few pages back. When she found what she was looking for, she handed it to him. "Finish that biscuit," she said, "and read this."

When he began reading, she reminded him, "Don't you have something for me? We were _both_ supposed to be looking into this."

"Oh, right. Sorry." He wiped the cinnamon and sugar off his mouth then took out his notes. He cast a quick spell so that the pages would look like newsprint to anyone else who happened to glance down at it, only without the moving photographs.

Lowering his voice, he said, "Of course, this _is_ a violation of about 32 separate wizarding laws. I could lose my license to practice medicine, even face possible jail time. I know, what are the odds? We're nowhere near any the Ministry, but we should have met at your flat. We could have the convenience of using magic without . . . "

Stella waved an impatient hand at him, told him to 'shut up and read', and continued studying his notes. After several minutes of reviewing each others' documents, she looked up. "Well? What do you think?" she asked then poured some more tea for both of them. By now, the rain had let up and the crowd in the café was thinning out.

"Interesting. I'd never thought of some sort of blood disease."

"I know, it sounds crazy. I didn't know wizards even _got_ them. But it would explain why the methods your hospital uses couldn't figure out what was causing her illness, or how to cure her."

They polished off the remaining biscuits and emptied their cups. Finally, she said, "Listen, Brian, could you possibly _get_ some of her blood, so I can have it tested? That is, does your hospital keep anything like from its patients?"

"Well, in unexplained deaths, the hospital keeps a few samples and freezes them in a magical stasis. That way, as new spells and techniques are discovered, we can go back later and test them further so I imagine we would have blood, tissue – any number of things."

"Really? Well, that's very modern for your hospital. No offense, of course."

"None taken." He shrugged and said modestly, "To be honest, it's a rather new practice. Some of us younger Healers thought of it, mostly the Muggle-borns, having grown seeing so many ailments with no apparent cause that our parents couldn't just 'wish' away."

"Well, I think it's fantastic. Look, why don't we get the samples now, so I can have them looked at?" He nodded, and they gathered up their things and left the café.

* * *

Near the end of her time in her temporary post as Madam Pince's assistant, Hermione found herself no closer to learning the identity of the mysterious Brian. When she stumbled upon books and books of photographs of past and present students, she was overjoyed. They were organized by year and house; all she had to do was look for the Brians.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy.

The books, it turned out, didn't list any _first_ names – only the student's first initial, followed by a last name. "Fat lot of good that does me," she muttered as she flipped through the pages for what seemed like the thousandth time, scouring for boys with the first initial _B_. She had found several possibilities, but how was she to know the Brians from the Bradleys from the Bills?

No matter what she tried, no Charm would reveal the students' first names. It was fast becoming an exercise in futility.

She decided to call it a day as soon as Madam Pince got up from her afternoon rest. Since the librarian's days were generally quite long, she frequently took a nap to prepare for the 'evening rush', as she called it, when large numbers of students often came down to do research for essays and other homework. Just before 5:00, Hermione wrapped her warm traveling cloak around her for the long walk across the grounds to the front gates. Of course, she could Floo to the Burrow in seconds, but she wanted some time to think and unwind.

At least, that was what she _meant_ to do.

Hearing her boots crunch down on the packed snow as she walked was oddly liberating and seemed to brighten her mood. As she moved further away from the castle, the snow was softer, fresher . . . untouched. Her feet sifted through the light powder. The simple pleasure of being the first person to wade through new snow made her smile subconsciously, just as it had when she was a girl.

The feel of it reminded her of countless snowball fights, something she had hated in her early years at Hogwarts but learned to enjoy as she and Ginny became closer friends, and eventually, confidants. She was soon giggling at memories of the four of them – Harry, Ron, Ginny, and herself – making hundreds of snowballs and filling them with magic so they stayed together but were still slushy and wet on impact. She could still see Ron, running after her, red-faced and puffing like an angry dragon without its fire. It always made the girls laugh raucously; he was so easy to get riled up. Harry would just roll his eyes and tell him, "They won that time, mate. Give up!"

Looking around to make sure no one could see her, Hermione lay on her back and made the most perfect snow angel. She tried to ignore the way the snow was creeping inside her cloak and robes. When it reached the edge of her skirt and spilled into the tops of her boots, she squealed. The sound of it echoed into the deepening twilight.

_Wouldn't Ron be surprised to see me now?_

A few minutes later, she rose and dusted herself off, prepared to walk on. She felt cold but rejuvenated.

The closer she drew to the gates, the slower she walked. She hated leaving this place – she always had and still did. Back when they had all lived here, it was a different time, a time when their responsibilities were to each other. Of course, there were their studies, but neither Ron nor Harry took them very seriously. What had mattered most, what _still_ mattered today, was their friendship.

At last, she reached out and touched the gates with her gloved hand. She stood there for a moment, smiling as she reflected on how lucky she was: she had Harry's children, and she still had Ron and most of his family. A few moments later, she walked outside, the gate clanging shut behind her. Once she was far enough into the outside world to Apparate, the lands around her melted away.

_Splat!_

Her arrival at the Burrow was heralded by something wet and slushy hitting her hat, which was already damp from making the snow angel. She shrieked in surprise. Just as the moisture soaked through and started to saturate her hair, a man's voice roared, _"Get her!"_

His battle cry was echoed by a band of small children. The four – no, _five_ – warriors rushed her, coming out from behind their make-shift fortress and going into full attack mode. Laughing, she tried to cover her face as she lumbered through the deep snow and made a run for the house. She could barely catch her breath. Her attackers were relentless in their pursuit and continued to pelt her with snowballs.

When they finally caught up to her, she was almost at the front porch. The little ones wrapped themselves around her legs and waist and brought her to the ground.

"Yay, Uncle Ronnie! We got her!" they cried as they jumped up and down. "We win! We win!"

Sitting down on the snow-dampened steps, Hermione reached out for her daughters and grabbed them. Their faces were beaming; their noses and cheeks were as red as apples, their breath coming out as visible puffs that filled the air around them then vanishing.

"We got you, Mummy!" Lily said, her jack-o-lantern grin a mile wide.

"Yes, you did, my little flower. Look at me – I'm soaked from head to toe!" Her oldest friend in the world was crouching down among the children. She turned to him and stuck her tongue out. "I'm sure this was all _your_ idea, Ronald Weasley."

"Well, actually your girls asked me to help them defeat the Huns—"

"Hey!" young Artie objected, sounding offended – even though Hermione was fairly certain the six-year-old didn't know what the word meant. "Wait, what are Huns?"

"Never you mind," Ron said. But he wasn't looking at his nephew. He stood up and raked his fingers through his hair to clear out the rest of the snow. When he offered to help Hermione to her feet, she smiled and took his hand gratefully.

Finally, she noticed just how wet her clothes actually were. She cried, "Ahhh! I'm freezing!" and started to shiver. The kids giggled at her.

Pretending to be upset, she resumed her authoritative manner. She clapped her hands twice and ordered, "Now everyone, let's all get inside and get into some dry clothes! Leave your outerwear on the hooks just inside and then go change at once for dinner."

The children herded past them, making battle sounds and shouting cries of victory about their conquest. Jocee thrust her fist in the air and announced proudly, "Grandma, we won! We defeated the Huns! And we took a prisoner, too!"

Ron rolled his eyes and smiled, partly in amusement at his niece, but mostly because Hermione sounded like herself again . . . like the girl he knew and loved. True, he had ribbed her terribly when she was Head Girl. But he had always liked that certainty she had about herself – the conviction that actually, she _was_ right, all the time.

"You know, going to Hogwarts three times a week is starting to rub off on you. I think you should consider taking a post there permanently. It suits you."

"Me? Work at Hogwarts?" She sounded as if the idea surprised her.

"Sure. Why not? Harry and I always figured McGonagall was your idol. You're just like her – except you _do_ know how to have fun. McGonagall wouldn't know fun if it came up and bit her in the arse."

Hermione followed everyone in and cast a Drying Spell on the children's outerwear. Once she and Ron had hung and dried their things as well, they stood together by the fire. Lily, Jamie, Artie, and Jocee had all trooped upstairs to put on dry clothes for dinner at the command of Admiral Molly.

The two old friends relaxed into a casual conversation about Ron's Quidditch practices, which were being canceled due to inclement weather. "Besides, with Christmas just around the corner, we're probably just going to regroup next month. We'll see what Oliver wants to do." As she turned around to warm her backside, he noticed the way her skirt was clinging to her thighs in a provocative and positively indecent manner . . .

He swallowed then asked, "Do you want to take that skirt off?" Mortified, he quickly rephrased the question. "Er, I mean do you want to get into something dry for your trip back home?" His face had turned the color of stewed beets.

Feeling slightly self-conscious herself, she cast her eyes downward. "Does your mum have something of Ginny's I could borrow?"

"I think so. Let me go ask her."

Anxious to escape the embarrassment he was feeling, Ron took off for the kitchen. Hermione stood by the fire quietly and listened for his return. Instead, she heard his mum chastise him for bothering her in the middle of her cooking with something he could 'very well get himself'. He skulked through the living room, his face even redder than before, his lips twisted into an annoyed frown. He headed to the stairs, all the while grumbling something about how she didn't need to _yell_ at him – after all, he was only asking. His friend turned back toward the fire and bit back a grin.

Once Hermione had put the dry clothes on and adjusted them to fit her a little better, she and Ron resumed their conversation by the fire while waiting for dinner. "Is Fred coming over tonight?" she asked, as if she had just thought of her boyfriend.

"I s'pose." He seemed a little disappointed to have to tell her this. "So, how do you like working with Madam Pince?"

Hermione shrugged and grimaced. "She's all right, I guess. I don't know if it's because I'm so familiar with the place that the work is so incredibly easy for me – it's almost boring at times – but some days, I find myself with a good deal of free time on my hands."

"Well, you're not down there in the evenings, are you?" he observed. "I reckon that's when the library is busiest."

She laughed. "I know. It is kind of silly to have an assistant during the day. But still, I have had time to . . .

"Hey, Ron, do you know someone named Brian that Ginny and Neville would both know but I wouldn't? I figure he's got to be close to our age, or how else would they know him? But if they know him, then we would too—"

"Brian? Why the devil do you want to know about some wanker named Brian? You've already got _one_ boyfriend." This time, he sounded downright annoyed.

Hermione just looked at him. _Is someone jealous?_

She sighed in exasperation. "I don't want to date him, Ron. I don't even _know_ him, but – please help me out with this. It's for Ginny." She looked at him seriously. "Don't you worry about her being with Lucius Malfoy?"

"What do _you_ think?" he snarled sarcastically. For a few moments, he said nothing more. Then his eyes lit up. "Hey, I wonder if it's the same Brian that Percy used to hang out with at Hogwarts."

"Percy had friends at Hogwarts?"

She didn't _mean_ to say it like that. It sounded cruel. It just sort of slipped out before she could stop herself, and it was her turn to blush. Even so, Ron laughed wryly.

"Kind of amazing, eh? Most of them were in Ravenclaw, of course."

She smiled and asked hopefully, "Do you happen to know Brian's last name?"

"Well, if it _is_ Percy's old friend, it's Gilpin. He's a Healer at St. Mungo's, probably of the youngest one they've got. Why do you need to fi—"

But before he could finish, her lips were on his and her arms around him. He tried not to read too much into it. It was nothing but a gesture, a gut reaction to wonderful news . . . the rush of instant relief one has when an important but vexing question has been answered. Especially when that someone was Hermione.

When she finally grasped what she had done, she felt a bit awkward. But for some reason, she got too caught up in the moment to let reason take over, let go, and simply back away.

Besides, Ron didn't seem to _mind_ terribly that she had kissed him . . . or rather, that she was still kissing him. No more than he minded the way she was starting to run her fingers through his hair or the feel of her tongue as it was invading his mouth or the sound of her moaning into his lips or just how _close_ she was pressing up against him. To the contrary, he clenched her tightly as his body responded to her.

"My, my . . . isn't this cozy?"

End of Chapter

Notes: Hmm…as some of you had already predicted, Fred and Hermione's relationship may not be as solid as she implied. (I hope this doesn't seem too cliché, but I can't _help_ it; I am a die-hard R/Hr shipper!)

Thank you so much for reading! Reviews and comments would be extra, extra nice, especially since they were so sparse on the last chapter. :-( In the next chapter, we should see more Lucius/Ginny and perhaps a bit more angst. For the angst fans, I'm sorry we couldn't have more this time. But think how poor Fred must feel-!

Say, did any of you notice the line from Nickelodeon's "Fairly Odd-Parents"? Well, not so much a 'line', but one word that appears in the cartoon, time after time. I thought it was rather amusing. :-) The first person to name it can have either a cookie from Chapter 15 or a drabble with the HP pairing of your choice. (The only ones I can't write are romantic H/D or D/Hr.)


	16. Chapter 15

Author Notes: Thanks once again to Persephone33 for beta reading for me. :-D Sorry for the monstrous delay, but this story has fought me all the way on how it should be written. My muse has been very finicky.

In this chapter: Telling Rhiannon the news.

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 15**_

"Goodbye, my dears." Lucius bent down to kiss his granddaughter on the cheek. He lovingly placed a hand on the top of her head then moved toward his fiancée. Leaning over, he paused briefly to inhale the scent of her honeysuckle-scented hair. Ginny's heart fluttered as he lifted a strand of it and kissed it tenderly.

"Could you come home a little early today?" she whispered to him, a twinge of longing on her face.

"I'll try." He stood up straight and looked from her to Rhiannon. "Are you two still planning to go out and do some shopping? Or have my spies misinformed me?" he added teasingly.

The youngster laughed. "Oh, Grandpa, you don't have any spies!"

Ginny grinned. "Don't forget about Toddy. He's frightfully loyal to him." She looked toward Lucius and said, "Yes, we are going to Diagon Alley for a bit of shopping. Then, if she's good . . . she's in for a very special after-birthday treat. It might involve a side trip to the continent."

The girl's eyes lit up at the news. "Are we really, Mummy?"

"Perhaps. Either way, you'll need to wear comfortable shoes and warm clothes."

"Where are we going?" she begged, but Ginny ignored her, pretending she hadn't heard her and swirling the remainder of the tea in her cup. When the child asked again, Lucius chuckled.

"Now you've done it, Ginevra. She'll never stop."

"Oh, I have ways of making her stop – I _am_ a witch, you know," she assured him with a wry smile. "If she doesn't, I may be forced to demonstrate a spell my mother used on _me_ when I wouldn't leave her alone."

"Knowing your brothers, I'm sure she had a full arsenal. Well, if I don't go now, I'll be late. The Apparition ports get very busy this time of the morning. Have fun, ladies."

Once he was out of earshot and the front door had slammed shut, her daughter whispered excitedly, "He's gone now. You can tell me. Where are we going?"

"I already told you, to Diagon Alley. I want to look at a few books and then visit a jeweler. I think my watch is broken." She turned her wrist to view her timepiece and frowned at it.

But this did not appease her daughter; she grabbed Ginny's wrist and inspected her watch. It was ticking, and its hands were moving perfectly. "Your watch is fine," she protested. "Where are we _really_ going?"

"Do you promise to be good all day and not fuss?" The child nodded eagerly.

"All right. We are going to visit the Einhorn."

The look on Rhiannon's face told her mum that the little imp had not really been listening to the Junior Book of Magical Creatures she had been reading to her a few days earlier. _"Eye_ - norn? What's that?"

Ginny sighed then stood up and pushed her chair in under the mahogany table. "It's German for unicorn. We read about it last week, remember? We're going to the forests of the Harz Mountains to see them. Won't that be fun?"

"Mm-hmm," her daughter agreed enthusiastically as she put one last bite of pancakes into her mouth. She took a large draft of her milk and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. Jumping up from her chair, she started to dash away from the table.

"Where are your manners, Rhiannon? Push your chair in," her mother reminded her.

The child did as she was told then asked, "Can Lucas come with us?"

"Not this time. He can come sometime when Grandpa can come along. Today it'll be just you and me – a girls day out." She latched onto her child's hand and swung it back and forth playfully and urged her toward the staircase. "Now come on. Let's see what Shilla has picked out for you for our journey."

* * * * *

Brian Gilpin extended a welcoming hand to the youngest brother of his late friend Percy. "Good to see you again, Ron."

They shook hands across his desk. It was almost as if they knew each other but not quite. Theirs was a rather awkward association, their only connection being a dead man whom they had both loved and admired. Ron's smile was tight. "Hullo, Brian. This is Hermione Granger – er, Potter."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Potter."

Hermione practically gushed, "You don't know how happy I am to meet _you_ at last! Finding you wasn't easy." Ron shuffled his feet and stared at the tops of his trainers.

"Sit down, please." The two lifelong friends stepped around the stuffed, lilac-colored chairs that faced the Healer's his desk and sat down.

"Granger, you say? I vaguely remember you from school. Weren't you one of those people who were petrified when that Basilisk was roaming around? When was that, anyway . . . my sixth year?" He could tell from her sudden change in demeanor that she was. He blushed.

"Umm, I-I'm sorry. Not something a person wants to be reminded of, I suppose?" He quickly turned to Ron and changed the subject. "God, it's been ages. What brings you here? I read about your last match. Congratulations!"

Ron suppressed a grin. "You mean our win against the Holyfield Harpies? That was actually, uh, three games ago. But thanks, just the same."

_Bugger, _Brian thought. He was never very socially adept, and this meeting wasn't exactly boosting his confidence. He decided to try some small talk. "I hope your family is all right. How's Ginny?"

Ron released a tired sigh. "I was hoping you could tell us, mate."

"Me? I haven't seen her in months. Stays out at that manor with her husband's family, never seems to go out with anyone . . . Look, I only met her because I was following her mother-in-law's case, and the poor woman died last spring. I can't imagine your being here about that – unless you're in the medical field yourselves . . ?" Hermione noticed that his last few words seemed to have a rather hopeful tone.

"Why would that matter? Was there something unusual about her death? That is, other than the fact that she was young?"

Brian shook his head and scoffed. "Only everything. But what prompted you to come to _me_ about Ginny? What would I know that you two don't?"

There was a gaping silence. Hermione turned to Ron for support, but he just looked at her and shrugged his shoulders. No matter how she tried to justify it, it was still a long shot. But they'd come this far; she just had to go through with it. She cleared her throat and began to explain what had brought them here.

"You might think this odd, but we were at this wedding a few weeks ago, and the groom, Neville Longbottom, told Gin—"

"Neville Longbottom? You went to his wedding?"

"Well, I was in it, actually. We were all housemates at Hogwarts," she informed him. "Anyway, he mentioned that he had a letter for Ginny from someone named Brian. And I was hoping – _we_ were hoping – that it was from you."

"I did write her a letter, but that was quite a while ago. She just now got it, then?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"She didn't?" he asked, surprised.

Ron jumped in at this point, sounding a bit tetchy. "No. Neville forgot, as usual," he grumbled. "I wouldn't trust him to deliver a Bludger if it had a Dead-On Aiming Charm!"

"Now, Ron. Neville obviously had other things on his mind that day."

Ignoring Ron's outburst, Brian smirked. "Well, that explains a few things – like why she hasn't answered me."

"What did the letter say?" Hermione prodded gently.

"It was meant to be private, but seeing how Ron's her brother, I guess there's no harm." He paused briefly. "It all started back when I was treating her mother-in-law, Narcissa. Ginny visited her almost every day. I thought she was pretty and very nice, but I was – too shy to ask her out. Instead, I wrote her a nice letter and asked her to go to a play with me. But the only owls available at the moment were for hospital emergencies, so I didn't send it right away.

"Then Lucius Malfoy just happened to stop by. I knew Ginny lived at Malfoy Manor, so I gave him the letter and asked him to give it to her. I later heard from a mutual friend that she did get a letter from me, but it didn't say at _all_ what I wrote. She knew nothing about the play or anything I'd said – and I began to suspect that Mr. Malfoy wasn't being completely honest."

"Really?" Ron scoffed. "A Malfoy, not completely honest? Who'd have thought it?"

"Oh, stop it, Ron," Hermione chastised him. He crossed his arms and shifted in his seat like an impatient child. She ignored his sulking and prompted Brian to continue. "Is that why you didn't just send the second letter by owl post? You were afraid it might be intercepted?"

"Exactly. You know, I was telling Stella the other day—"

"Stella? Is that your secretary?" the other wizard grilled him.

Brian shook his head. "No, my receptionist's name is Nadine. Stella's my cousin. She's a Muggle physician. I'm Muggleborn, you see—"

"Really? I am, too," Hermione offered cheerily.

"Oh, I didn't know that. What do your parents do?"

"They're both dent—"

"Ahem," Ron said irritably. "My sister is in trouble. Can we please get back to her?"

His best friend placed a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, Ron. But I'm sure whatever he has to tell us is relevant. Go on, Brian."

"Anyway, Stella and I have a professional relationship as well. We learn a lot from each other. She's also a friend of your sister's, and I was telling her – my cousin – how simple it is to magically modify a letter. That must have been what Mr. Malfoy did to my first note, unless he memory charmed her to make her forget my request, although I don't know why he'd do that."

"I know for a fact he doesn't like Muggleborns," Hermione said hotly. Brian nodded then went on.

"Meanwhile, my cousin and I had been doing some research into her Mrs. Malfoy's death – partly to find the truth, and partly for our own satisfaction as to what might have caused her untimely demise. We're hoping that by combining Stella's expertise in Muggle medical techniques with my magical abilities and training, we'll finally be able to put it to rest."

This intrigued Hermione. She raised her eyebrows and said, "You mean you don't worry about the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy?"

"Oh, come off it, Hermione. She's his cousin. I can't believe none of _your_ cousins know you're a witch." Indignant, she sniffed and tried to ignore his little jab.

"It's all right, Ron," Brian said. "Stella's known about our world for ages. Normally, she pretends it doesn't exist. I think it scares her. But back to Narcissa Malfoy, we're not sure yet, but we can say with some certainty that she didn't have an ordinary illness."

Ron, feeling better for having just one-upped Hermione, decided to add something to the conversation. "What do you mean, an 'ordinary illness'?" he asked, sounding a bit skeptical.

The older wizard furrowed his brow. "She had some rather mundane symptoms – coughing, wheezing, and the like – but they were more severe than we normally see at St. Mungo's. She was always very weak, drained of energy . . . yet she barely ate a thing. Whatever she had, none of our methods could touch it. She just kept getting worse as the weeks passed, until one day, she was gone.

"Later on, her husband stopped by and asked for a copy of her file. But my receptionist made a huge mistake: she gave him the wrong file."

"He got Ginny's instead," Hermione said softly.

"Exactly. He just walked away with information he had no right to. It took me a while to work it all out – but by then, it was too late."

"Are you sure he noticed before he left? Maybe he wasn't aware of the mix-up until he got home."

"Oh, he knew, all right. He even looked inside it as he sat there. I wondered why all of a sudden he became very anxious to leave. When I realized what had happened, I thought back on his visit – his demeanor and everything – and I-I just got a feeling, you know? A hunch that Ginny might be heading for trouble and not know it. So I thought I should send her another letter and alert her to my suspicions. I knew not to trust owl post, so I asked a trustworthy friend of hers to deliver it, and Neville came to mind. He was supposed to deliver it to her personally as soon as he could."

The Healer stopped and took a sip of water then rubbed his eyes. "I know she trusts Lucius because he's her relative. I'm sure he's treated her kindly, but I think she's making a terrible mistake trusting him . . . one she may end up paying for with her life."

"Yes, her parents think she's putting herself at great risk."

He gazed at her then said very seriously, "I'm inclined to agree with them, Mrs. Potter."

"So . . . do you think the rumors are true?" she asked in a harsh whisper, fighting the urge to cry.

He shrugged. "That depends on what rumors you mean. Are they engaged? Is she pregnant with his child? God, I hope not. But I think he intends to use any means necessary, be it simple coercion or even the Imperius curse, to make her his bride."

Incensed, Ron wouldn't hear another word of this. He jumped to his feet and pointed a finger in Gilpin's face.

"That does it!" he shouted. "My sister is _not_ marrying that arrogant, two-faced bastard! We have to stop her, no matter the cost. _You_ have got to help us, Gilpin. Whatever you and your cousin learn needs to be reported to the Ministry of Magic so Malfoy can be arrested and tried for murdering his wife!"

"Murder?" his friend gasped.

"Come on, Hermione, you know as well as I do he slowly poisoned her – he _had_ to have! And he'll do the same to Ginny, once he's got what he wants."

Brian was rather taken aback. "We don't know that for sure, Ron. Stella and I are doing all we can. Medical research is a painstaking process, you know."

Hermione took her friend's hand and stroked it tenderly, calming him into sitting down again. Then she said, "We have to get her out of there. It hasn't been safe, not since Lucius came home. But she's very strong-willed. It's her life, and she'll live it how she wants to. What baffles me is . . . how could she succumb to a man so evil, a wizard whose ambition once nearly killed her?"

"What?" the Healer asked, sounding just as shocked as if she'd hit him in the face with an ice-cold glass of pumpkin juice.

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances. She swallowed before explaining further.

"You mentioned the Basilisk at Hogwarts. It was Ginny who unleashed it – unknowingly, of course. But it was Mr. Malfoy who set things in motion: he discretely slipped an enchanted diary in her cauldron. It was the cause of the whole thing. A piece of Voldemort's soul was inside it." Brian stared at her in silence. "I thought you might have known about it, since you were Percy's friend and had access to Ginny's files. She nearly died, you know. She was here for several weeks."

"Well, I know a little of her history. But I didn't know that _she_ . . . or that Lucius Malfoy . . . " His voice faded, unable to say anything more. When he snapped out of it, he reached into his desk and withdrew a business card. "This is my cousin's mobile number. I think you should ring her up."

* * * * *

"Oooh, this one the prettiest, Mummy!"

It was at least the ninth time Ginny had heard her daughter say that in a span of less than fifteen minutes. "Yes, they're all very beautiful. But I'm not looking for a necklace."

"Hey, did you give the man your watch?"

"My watch?"

"So he can fix it."

"Oh. That." She laughed nervously. "It seems I brought you here under false pretenses." For a moment, Rhiannon just stared at her with her mouth hanging open. Ginny smiled warmly.

"You were right. My watch doesn't need to be fixed. But I do need something else here; do you want to help me pick it out?"

"What is it, Mummy?"

"I'm not sure, exactly. I'll know it when I see it," she assured her.

The girl didn't understand what she meant, but she pretended she did.

_How can a smart witch like Mummy go shopping, not know what she wants, but know it when she sees it? _

_Daniel was right: Grown-ups can be so weird._

They continued to browse, moving slowly away from the glass case filled with sparkly necklaces, chokers, and earrings. As they drew closer to the fancy cabinets that were closer to the front, Rhiannon saw there were bracelets and rings locked inside.

"Is this it?" she asked her mother, pointing to a dainty bracelet that was laced with diamonds. The gold glittered against the deep plum velvet backdrop, and the pure white stones shone brilliantly in the lighted case.

"That _is_ pretty, but I was thinking more of a ring."

The girl frowned. This had been fun at first, but she was growing tired of it quickly. Sensing her boredom, Ginny took her hand and led her to the very front cabinet, where the most exquisite diamond rings were housed.

"Here. This is more what I had in mind. A diamond ring." Rhiannon's expression didn't change; if anything, she looked even more disinterested. "Ooh, that one looks like Mrs. Flint's, don't you think?" her mum asked her. The girl shrugged. "I wonder if Neville got Luna's here . . . that one on the middle row looks almost exactly like it."

"Are these special rings?" Rhiannon asked her mother, tracing the outline of a few of them on the front of the glass and pretending she was actually touching them. She pointed at one of them and said, "That's the one Thaddeus had on his white pillow at the wedding. When the wedding was over, it was gone."

"That's because Neville gave it to Luna." Her mother smiled. "These are wedding rings."

"Why do you need a wedding ring? Don't you have one from Daddy?"

_Okay. This is it,_ Ginny thought, bolstering her courage.

"Yes, I did, but . . . Let's go outside for just a minute, shall we?" Once they were out the door, she knelt down in front of her daughter. "Rhiannon, look at me. This is very important." She dropped her arms to her side and met her mother's gaze. "What would you think if Mummy told you she was getting married again?"

The girl looked a bit surprised. "But what about Daddy? My friend Elizabeth said that once you get married, you're married for always. Don't you love him?"

"Of course, I love your daddy. But the marriage vows say 'till death do us part,' which means . . . well, a marriage is over when one of the people dies. So if I want to marry again, then it's all right."

The young girl took all of this in, her expression a cross between confusion and concern. "What if he doesn't like me?"

"But he does. He loves you very much." She stopped for a moment and ran her hand down the back of the child's ponytail. "I'm going to marry your grandpa, Lucius."

"What? You're in love with Grandpa?"

"Yes, I am. And you two are going to become even closer. Isn't that great?"

Despite her mother's assurances, the little girl was still concerned. "Does my Grandma Malfoy know?"

"I don't know. But if marrying Lucius makes me happy, I think your grandma would be fine with it, and your daddy would, too. He visited me in a dream once and told me so."

When the youngster didn't reply right away, Ginny took her by the shoulders and looked directly in her eyes. "Do you understand, sweetheart? Your grandpa and I have been lonely. We love each other and make each other happy. Wouldn't it be better if we were both happy?"

This made the girl smile. "Yes. I want you to be happy, Mummy." She leapt into her mother's arms and hugged her tightly. When she let go, she gasped and asked excitedly if there would be another really big wedding, like the one Luna had.

"Possibly. We're not sure yet," was the answer.

"Oh, but you _have_ to! It'll be so much fun!" Rhiannon exclaimed, jumping up and down. Ginny laughed.

"We'll see. We just haven't decided yet. It's an awful lot of time and expense. Besides, each of us had large weddings the first time we got married, so it's not that big of a deal for either of us."

"Pleeeease?"

She smirked and touched the little nose with her index finger. "You just want to be a flower girl again, don't you?"

"Mayyybe," the child practically sang in a slow drawl as a scheming grin gradually spread across her face.

"I don't know that he wants all that. Big weddings are usually just for first marriages. We'll talk about it later on. But for now, let's go pick out some rings."

They stepped back inside and resumed their search for the perfect ring. After choosing her favorites, Ginny requested that prices and photographs be owled to Malfoy Manor for Lucius to see. "Of course, Mrs. Malfoy. It will be my pleasure," the jeweler's apprentice replied with a slight bow. Both witches looked very pleased as they left the shop.

The day was bright and sunny. It was nice for December, and the little girl was getting a bit toasty in her heavy cloak. As they walked hand in hand, another important question came to her mind. "Will I still call him 'Grandpa'?"

"I suppose you two will have to work that out for yourselves. Maybe you should ask him what he prefers." This seemed to placate her for the moment.

They entered the new, modern Portkey station that had recently been built. While waiting their turn in the queue, Ginny felt confident enough to ask, "Well, are you happy with my choice?"

Rhiannon nodded. At last, she asked the one question her mother had been dreading: "Why him? He's much older than you."

"True, but that doesn't bother me. I still love him." She paused, thinking of a way to explain love and romance so it would make sense to the six-year-old.

"I don't know 'why'. It just sort of . . . happened. We grew closer as time went on, and then one day, we were in love.

"A person can't help who they fall in love with. My family wasn't crazy about your daddy at first – but the idea grew on them as they got to know him. Once, right before our wedding, we were playing Quidditch with my brothers. I thought your Uncle Ron was going to knock him off his broomstick."

The child took all this in, trying to understand it. "But _then_ they liked him, right?"

"Yes, but it took a while. A long while. Then one day, they were – okay with it." They moved up a few steps as the line shifted forward once more. "It was when you were born that everyone saw how devoted he was to me and to our marriage. All I know is that people outside the situation may not understand. But if two people love each other, that's all that matters. Does that make sense?"

Rhiannon smiled and squeezed her mother's hand tightly.

* * * * *

The shop bell rang sharply, awakening the proprietor, Mr. Freels, from his afternoon doze. He greeted his customer with a, "Oh, good day to you, Mrs. Longbottom," then coughed down a frog that had settled in his throat. "Back from your honeymoon already? How was your trip?"

"Very good, thank you. The weather was fine, and Neville and I enjoyed many parts of France. The south was particularly nice."

"It always is, Mrs. Longbottom. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. And what brings you here today? I hope those rings are working out for you two. Still sparkling like when your husband bought them? There's no problem with the fit, is there? I can easily adjust either one, if you need me to."

"No, they're fine. Very beautiful, and comfortable, too. Actually, I'm looking for a gift – a thank you gift for my dear friend, Hermione Potter. She took on my work while I was gone."

"Remind me, what is you do, Mrs. Longbottom? Wait, don't tell me . . . you work at your father's magazine, right? He's become quite successful these days, hasn't he?" he asked absently as visions of Galleons began to float around in his balding head.

Luna laughed. "No, silly! I work at Hogwarts in the library. I help Madam Pince reshelve books, check out material, and keep the students in line." The elderly shopkeeper blushed at his forgetfulness. He knew she'd told him that at least once before, as had Neville – and Mr. Lovegood himself.

"Ahh, that's right. Memory's not what it used to be, my dear. Now, what would you like to get for Mrs. Potter?"

The witch didn't reply for a few minutes. Instead, she gazed silently around at the cases with their shiny contents and wondered what would make an appropriate thank you gift. "I'm not sure. I supposed something she could wear for a special occasion."

Mr. Freels pulled his hand back out of the case he was just reaching into. He was about to suggest a cedar jewelry box – it was a common gift between girlfriends – but those were so labor-intensive that there wasn't much profit in them.

"How about a lovely strand of cultured pearls?" he offered, pointing out a few of the nicer ones in the 70 to 100 Galleons range.

But when she noticed the price tags, Luna said to him bluntly, "No, thank you, Mr. Freels. She _did_ get paid while she was there. I was thinking more of a nice barrette or maybe a special pin that we could put her name on. Do you have something like that?"

"Well, not to be rude, Mrs. Longbottom – but how much were you thinking of spending?"

"I don't know. Perhaps 25, 30 Galleons?"

Mr. Freels' face relaxed; he was beginning to fear she wouldn't buy anything or would want something very cheap. Thankfully, the items Mrs. Longbottom mentioned were less expensive to make than a hand-carved, wooden jewelry box. They also had a 400% mark-up.

"It just so happens I have some very unique pieces in that case over there. They're easily within your budget." He pointed across the room and led her to a cabinet that wasn't locked at the moment.

They looked over the merchandise inside, and Luna finally settled on a barrette with red and gold lilies. It was very pretty. He offered to personalize it, but she declined – it was 34 Galleons as it was.

While Mr. Freels wrapped it for her, he commented, "Speaking of your friends, one of them was in here earlier today. You _are_ still friends with Ginny Malfoy, aren't you? Or is my memory completely failing me?"

Luna's face lit up. "Really? Was she by herself?"

"No, she had a little girl with her, and she was looking at wedding rings. I guess she's decided to move on, now that her husband's been . . . well, deceased for so long."

The witch's expressive eyes opened widely and her mouth hung open. "She's getting married? I didn't think she was dating anyone. I wonder who he is?"

"She didn't say," the jeweler replied with a shrug. "But my apprentice has been busy since mid-morning, photographing and recording prices on different rings. She asked him to send owl them to Malfoy Manor."

This perplexed Luna. "Why would she have them sent to herself?"

"I don't know. It _is_ strange . . . maybe she wanted to have time to think it over."

"It's very strange," she agreed. He finished adding on the musical bow and testing it to be sure the song played perfectly. It was one of Hermione's favorites: _Time to Say Goodbye._

"Not to be presumptuous, but it _was_ in the Daily Prophet that . . . " He stopped then called to the back part of the shop, "Geoffrey, who did Rita Skeeter say that Ginny Malfoy was supposed to be getting married to?"

The young man emerged from his hideaway and laughed. "Honestly, Uncle. You know I don't read that rubbish. It's idle gossip and lies. Now, The Quibbler – _that's_ a publication you can put your trust in. But she did ask me to send these photographs and a price list to her house. Said she wanted Lucius Malfoy to take a look at them. Don't know why, though. I mean, he was her late husband's father, but why would his opinion matter?"

"Maybe he's paying for them," Mr. Freels suggested. "That family still has a lot of money, you know. He'd want one of his own to look good, even if they're only related by marriage."

Luna's face paled slightly as she reached across the counter, placing the 34 Galleons into Mr. Freels' greasy, age-spotted hand. "I must go now," she said, and he handed her the package. "Thank you."

"Thank _you,_ Mrs. Longbottom. Do stop in again sometime." He smiled after her as she walked through the front door in a bit of a hurry.

"Well, that was odd," the older wizard remarked.

"Indeed. She's always been on the odd side. You forget, I knew her at school."

"Yeah. But young Longbottom's made a name for himself, and with that comes Galleons, my boy. By the way, good job praising The Quibbler like that," he said, wearing a proud smile. "One day you'll be the best in the business."

Geoffrey grinned then returned to the back of the store to fetch a delivery owl.

~End of Chapter~

Notes: Hope you enjoyed that. Mr. Freels' name came from one of my old schoolmates, whose last name always invoked the feeling of someone who was always rubbing his fingers together, pretending (or wishing) there was money in them.

Reviews would be appreciated. More intrigue in the next few chapters as things come to a head in the Gryffindor camp. :-) I don't know when it will be ready, as I have other projects that will be keeping me busy for the foreseeable future.


	17. Chapter 16

Author Notes: Yippee, I'm back from 'hiatus'! It wasn't exactly a break; I wrote two one-shots during this time for the D/G Fic Exchange at Livejournal. With the kids back in school, I think I can focus more fully on this now.

Just a reminder, this journey began the summer before Half-Blood Prince, so it is canon-compliant up to the point. :-) Thank you, Persephone33, for the beta read! It's over 6,000 words, so let's get started.

In this chapter: Lucius's evil plans.

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 16**_

"Good afternoon, Marcus. What can I do for you?"

"Lucius," he said with a nod. He tilted his head in the direction of the two men beside him then introduced them. "This is Edmund Goodspeak and Rothchild Petree. They're Aurors. They would like a word with you, if you have a few minutes."

"Of course." The blond wizard rose from his desk respectfully, held out his hand, and smiled. "Hello, Mr. Goodspeak. Nice to meet you, Mr. Petree."

Edmund answered first. "Likewise, Mr. Malfoy. I've heard good things about you – how you're fitting in and helping the Ministry. Naturally, we are grateful."

Lucius bit back a sneer. "Not at all. How may I assist you gentlemen?"

"Like Flint said, we just need a few moments of your time. Shall we?" He motioned toward the lift at the end of the hallway.

As they walked along, Lucius tried to make polite conversation. "So, Goodspeak. You're not working with that witch anymore – Belinda something, wasn't it?"

The Auror frowned. "No, Petree's been my partner for years. You must have me confused with someone else."

"Probably so. My mistake."

But he knew he wasn't. He had met Edmund Goodspeak almost two years ago, right after Ginny's ordeal with the great 'Saint Potter'.

Now and then, Lucius would reminisce about that blissful afternoon. It was an odd turn of events, really. It was meant for revenge – a simple act of retribution against his son who had fled Lord Voldemort and fought for the other side. Draco, having betrayed his own blood, had helped the Order of the Phoenix bring in Death Eaters all over Britain, his own father among them. The boy was a disgrace to the name Malfoy.

It made perfect sense to make Draco's lovely young wife think it was Potter who had attacked her . . . _Well_, Lucius figured, _why not kill several birds with one stone, and have some fun in the bargain?_ It was the perfect plan to get back in the Dark Lord's good graces, and Voldemort had sunk his teeth into it like a dog on a bone.

But it wasn't as simple as all that. Once he'd had her, Lucius couldn't help his attraction to her. She was so alive, so _vibrant._ Just thinking of that look of wantonness in her warm brown eyes and how her body responded to his touch brought a smirk to his lips even now.

He soon decided that it would prudent to marry Ginevra. As his companion and lover, she would be young and healthy enough to bear him many more children. Not to mention the effect their marriage would have on those Weasley blood traitors. The very idea of their precious little girl lying beneath him would no doubt be a devastating blow to Arthur and Molly. As long as she remained unaware of what he'd done, his happiness – and the Malfoy line – would be assured.

The lift jolted a bit as it stopped three levels down, waking him from his thoughts. The three wizards exited and took a right. As they stepped into the conference room, he asked the Aurors, "How long do you expect this to take? I have a few things I need to finish this afternoon."

Rothchild informed him, "We are due to Apparate to South America within the hour. We won't take much of your time." Then he closed the door behind them.

Lucius took a seat near the door on the right side of the long table, and the others sat across from him. "Ready when you are, Mr. Goodspeak. Mr. Petree."

Edmund lifted a box from underneath the table. Inside it was a Pensieve. He withdrew a vial from his robes and opened it, depositing its silvery contents into the basin. "Your late wife was the sister of Bellatrix Lestrange, was she not?" he asked as the last few strands of the memory settled into the swirling mixture.

"Yes," he replied emotionlessly.

"When was the last time you saw your sister-in-law?"

"I don't know. Probably four, five years ago."

Edmund looked mildly surprised. "She didn't come for her sister's funeral?"

"No. She didn't."

"Right. Make a note of that, Rothchild," he commanded to his younger partner. "Now, Mr. Malfoy, if you'll be so good as to follow me."

The three wizards descended into the Pensieve. When they reached the cold stone floor at the bottom, Lucius recognized it instantly: they were inside Walden MacNair's run-down, old cottage. It smelled of a mixture of damp and the pungent fumes that it normally did.

Mr. Goodspeak watched him closely for a glimpse of recognition or perhaps a change in his posture. But neither one came. "Do you know where we are, Mr. Malfoy?" he posed at last.

"No, is this somebody's servant quarters?"

"Think again. You've been here before, haven't you?" Rothchild prompted.

"I'm sure you're mistaken. I have never set foot in—"

Goodspeak hushed them both with an annoyed wave. They walked through the memory, moving further into the dark, ramshackle house. As they did, Lucius noticed the same two Aurors were already sitting at the table on the opposite side of MacNair. They appeared to be questioning him. The visitors looked on, unseen.

An aged wooden table stood at the center of the house. It was cluttered with the tools of a potion-maker's trade: stacks of finely chopped herbs, cauldrons containing liquids of varying shades and consistencies, the skeleton of a small animal. In the middle of it all was an old potions book that was starting to fray at the seam, its pages spotted with stains. The bitter smell of a badly-brewed batch of Wolfsbane potion filled the air.

"Mr. MacNair," said the Edmund Goodspeak in the memory, "do you know why we're here today?"

"No, I – I've done nothing wrong. I can't imagine why you've come. I'm not involved in anything illegal. All my ingredients are authorized, I swear! I need to sell my potions to eek out a living. As you can see," he added, waving his arm around the room, "I ain't exactly swimming in Galleons."

The younger Auror looked at him tersely. "It's not to do with your ingredients. I'm sure your methods are above reproach. We're here because we have been informed that a wanted felon had recently visited your home."

MacNair's beady eyes drew wide in disbelief.

"What? Who?"

"Surely you are familiar with the name Bellatrix Lestrange, formerly Bellatrix Black. She escaped from Azkaban over ten years ago and has been on the run ever since."

"'Course, who in England hasn't heard of Mrs. Lestrange, or her husband?" The Aurors gazed at him. "But she hasn't been here. At . . . at least, I don't _think_ so."

"You don't think so? What do you mean?"

"Well, sometimes all these concoctions and ingredients, they make me, you know, doze in and out at times, have strange dreams – what, with the fumes and all."

Seeing the predatory look on Rothchild's face, he hesitated.

"Go on," the Auror purred.

"I . . . I think I must have dreamed she was here. She's so beautiful, you don't easily forget her. She asked me for some potions that I knew were illegal, and I told her I didn't make those no more. I learned my lesson, thank you very much."

He paused again. His eyes darted around the room, as if he were expecting to be arrested at any moment.

"I _think_ it was a dream," he repeated, murmuring slowly. "But she promised me something, and I don't remember ever—"

"What did she promise you?" asked Edmund.

"Sex," MacNair answered bluntly. "I'd have done it too; I don't care if the old broad is married. I never liked Rodolphus, anyway." He stopped to think again. "The funny thing is, I don't recall that we did anything but talk." He blew out a frustrated breath and groaned, "I'm not even sure she was really _here!_"

"Thank you, you've been very helpful. We'll be in contact if we need anything else."

And so the memory ended.

"Mr. Malfoy," Edmund asked once they were back in their places in the neat conference room with its long, pristine table, "you're sure you haven't seen Mrs. Lestrange?"

"I said no, what more do you want?"

"The truth, for one thing," Petree jumped in. "You see, this meeting with MacNair took place about two weeks ago. Based on some other tips we'd received, we went back to ask him a few more questions. Only this time, he was dead."

Lucius's mouth fell open. He could say nothing for a moment or two. He just stared down at the Pensieve.

"Dead?" he finally managed to say. "Walden MacNair – is _dead?_ But . . . how? When did this happen?"

"We don't know for sure. According to his neighbors, he rarely left his front door. The Healers are examining his body for clues right now," Edmund explained. "Considering it a possible murder."

"But who would want to kill MacNair?"

"If you have nothing else you can tell us, Mr. Malfoy, we'll just show ourselves out," Rothchild said. He stowed away the Pensieve.

"Thank you for your time," Goodspeak added politely then reminded him, "If anything does come to mind, or if your sister-in-law should turn up, please Owl us immediately. Just a reminder, if you do know where she is and don't report her, the Ministry might see _you_ as aiding a wanted criminal. Good day, Mr. Malfoy." Lucius nodded mutely.

The Aurors walked down the corridor toward the lift, ready to Apparate to their next meeting. The grate slammed shut, and they started to move. Each one knew what the other was thinking. Petree finally voiced it. "Colossal waste of time."

"What'd you expect? I told you that before we went. Without Veritaserum, you're wasting your time with any of them. Anyway, some of them can fight it, so what's the use?"

As the lift continued its ascent, his partner lit a smoke and chuckled lightly. "I saw your eyes pop out a little when he mentioned 'Belinda'."

"I know," Edmund gasped, laughing as well. "I couldn't help it!"

"So you think he meant Bedilia?" Rothchild said as he took another drag into his wiry body.

"Who else? But how would he know about _her?_"

* * *

The fireplace inside the Potter home flared up. In it appeared a blonde witch with vibrant blue eyes. Hermione looked up in surprise.

"Luna! Is it time already?" she asked, casting a critical glance at the clock on the far wall.

"No, and that's why I'm calling you so early. Neville's had some unexpected guests. A couple of blokes from the Ministry."

"The Ministry? Whatever for?"

She whispered, "I'm not sure, but I think one of them said they're Aurors. I'll call again when the coast is clear." With that, the flames subsided.

Hermione fretted as she paced around her sitting room, wondering how to busy herself while waiting. An eerie silence hung in the air; the place was always so quiet when the girls were with her parents. She had been anticipating this afternoon for three weeks now, ever since she had met Stella – yet now that it was here, she was beginning to feel a bit nervous.

She sighed as she ran her fingertips over the edge of Harry's Invisibility Cloak. It lay neatly next to the clean laundry, all of which needed to be sorted, folded, and put away. She briefly considered sitting down and doing the brainless task, just to kill some time. It was one chore she rather enjoyed doing without the benefit of magic. But since it wouldn't take her mind off the inevitable, she knew she couldn't do something as mundane as that – not now, anyway.

She decided that she should check in with Ron, just to see if he was almost ready. He was rarely on time for anything other than Quidditch practices and games. Normally, it was just a bad habit that irritated her. But being late today could spell an end to their plans to help his sister.

Taking a pinch of powder from the jar on the mantle, Hermione called out his name. His outline appeared in the fire, his red hair blending in with the dancing flames. She silently observed that it was getting quite long and made a mental note to remind him to go get it trimmed.

"What?" he asked irritably.

A bit stunned by his attitude, she snipped, "Nothing. I was just checking to see if you were ready. If you could come here instead, it might . . . oh, my God, Ron? What _happened?"_ she asked, her tone quite changed. "Your eye, it's practically swollen shut!"

Reaching out to touch him, she fell completely through and into his flat. She hugged him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His left eye was purple with a tinge of greenish yellow on the edges. "Who hit you?"

"Who'd you think?" he scoffed.

Hermione gasped. "Fred? Did Fred do this? Why, that little shit – I'm going to give him a piece of my mind!" Turning around, she reached for a bit of Floo Powder and then shouted, "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!" Ron grabbed onto her arm just before she stepped in.

"No, Hermione, don't—"

"Why not? He deserves it! How could he fight with his own brother?"

Ron looked down and shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Well, I _did_ kind of steal you from him. I've been expecting some form of payback. And really, a punch in the eye isn't as bad as it could have been. I was thinking of something more lasting, and well – magical. At least I didn't break out in zits or lose all my hair or something."

She looked at him sadly. This was all her fault. She'd been receptive to his advances; if she had said no, pushed him away that day at his parents' home, this would never have happened. If she had behaved properly, Ron wouldn't have pursued it, and then she could have told Fred privately that they were . . . well, _officially_ over.

He chuckled. "I know what you're thinking. 'This is all your fault, Ronald.' Not surprising, really." She smiled at him sympathetically. Compared to his right eye, the other one looked ghastly.

"No! It was mine, actually. Well – maybe it was both of our faults. But never mind that; let me fix it." She withdrew her wand and set to work on making him look more like himself.

But applying the normal healing spells did nothing. The eye remained just as puffy and swollen as it had when she first saw it, and the color around it didn't improve. If anything, it worsened. "I don't understand. Why isn't this working?" She was starting to get frantic.

A few seconds later, Ron laughed out loud.

"Ahh, _I_ get it! It _was_ more than just a punch in the eye." He laughed again. "Yep, you guys got me, all right," he shouted as if the twins could hear him.

An unexpected voice rang in through the fireplace and said, "Good." The couple gasped. It was Fred. "So, you apologize for stealing my girl? You admit you were wrong? That you were an unmitigated prick?"

Ron blushed as he gritted his teeth. He and Hermione had both forgotten that she had made the Floo connection to the twins' shop and never actually closed it. She bit her lip and squinted. "Fred," she pleaded, "what can I do? I said I was sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. It just sort of happened."

Hermione stepped forward and looked into Fred's eyes, which were uncharacteristically sad. They weren't laughing like they usually did, and it made her feel uncomfortable. Still, he held her gaze.

"But we had fun together, didn't we? Come on, Hermione. You need to laugh. You needed to feel happy again. You do _need_ me . . . don't you, love?"

"I," she began then stopped. This was so difficult. Even Ron was feeling the tension. He turned away and took a few steps toward the window, giving them their space. From there, he watched the former lovers over his shoulder.

"I did, yes. I guess – other than an apology, I at least owe you that. Thank you, Fred, for reminding me that life could be fun. I just don't think that . . . well, that _you_ and I could be what—"

Hermione looked away anxiously and stepped closer to Ron.

Fred stared at them both silently, shaking his head. He sighed in disappointment. Pointing his wand at his younger brother, he muttered something and then disappeared along with the fire.

Hermione released a breath. "My, that was – awkward." Turning to Ron, she saw that his eye was back to normal. "Oh, that's much better. Does it still hurt?"

"Not much. Why'd you floo so early, anyway? We aren't late, are we?"

"No, sorry to alarm you." She sighed, relieved that the tense situation with her ex-boyfriend was over. "Actually, Luna flooed me and said to come a little later – oh my God, Luna! We have to go! I'll need to stop by and get Harry's cloak—"

One at a time, they stepped into the compact fireplace and landed unceremoniously on Hermione's sitting room rug. Luna checked in about ten minutes later. Hermione snatched up the Invisibility Cloak, and they were soon standing inside Neville's office.

* * *

Entering through the back door of the shop, Ginny shook off the chill of the afternoon. She removed her hat and gloves and set them down on a nearby cabinet, taking care to avoid any plants that might reach out and latch onto them. When the proprietor's wife entered the darkened room to welcome her, the visitor smiled and stepped up hug her.

"Hullo, Luna!"

"Hi, Ginny," she said, returning her smile but not quite as brightly.

"It's good to see you again. I hope you and Neville enjoyed France?"

She nodded. "Very much. It was lovely. We saw your sister-in-law's sister, Gabrielle. Here, give me your cloak. I'll put it in the closet the employees share. Your gloves as well. You never know what Neville has back here that might like to eat off a finger or two," she added with a wink.

Leading the way, she said, "Come on, we'll be taking tea in Neville's office. It's much brighter and roomier than this old storeroom." Ginny smiled in silent agreement. She followed Luna to the homey atmosphere of the shop owner's domain.

Neville was signing his name at the bottom of a full-page letter. "Hello, there, Ginny. Just finishing this up."

He folded the letter, applied the wax, and sealed it with his stamp. All the while, his owl, Hootenanny, waited patiently in her cage next to his large desk. He opened the cage door and spoke softly to the bird, then gave her an owl treat. Once the letter was securely tied to her leg, he explained where it was to be delivered, gave her a second treat, and patted her on the head. When he opened a window, the bird swooshed out of it to deliver the message he had entrusted in her care.

Being the owner of a bustling enterprise didn't seem at all stressful to Neville. In fact, he seemed to be quite in his element. Ginny was surprised when a half-minute later, two rather agitated employees burst in at once and demanded his attention, each of them insisting that _his_ issue was the highest priority. He told them calmly, "I'm sure you both have important business to discuss, but it will have to wait. I'm taking tea with my wife and my friend now—"

"But Mr. Longbottom!" the first wizard interrupted frantically, waving a spiky leaf cutting in front his boss's nose. "This is for the Glick Pharmaceuticals account, it _can't_ wait! Mr. Glick is very demanding and has been threatening to take his business elsewhere—"

"Then let him. We have plenty of other clients, and several on a waiting list. Surely, he can wait an hour or two. If not, I think we'll survive without him."

Ginny marveled at his calm demeanor. Was this the boy who once quivered at the mere mention of the words 'Professor Snape'?

Neville's response seemed to take the wind out of the flustered wizard's sails and deflated his co-worker as well. Both of them left the office, looking a bit defeated and somewhat frustrated by their boss' attitude. Luna stood by and watched her husband in silent admiration.

"How are you, Ginny?" he said, leaning over to take her hands and kiss her lightly freckled cheek.

"Fine. Just fine."

Neville walked her over to the cozy side of the room. It seemed miles away from the desk and the constant churning of internal memos that laid themselves neatly in his inbox. "Please, have a seat."

He turned to his wife and said gently, "Luna, darling, would you mind checking on the cakes? Klaus should have brought them by now. And remind him to bring in a jar of honey." Pouring out three cups of tea, he asked, "So, how are things at Malfoy Manor? Are you getting along with Draco's father?"

At the mention of her fiance', she smiled. "We get along just fine. He's a perfect gentleman."

When Neville asked doubtfully, "This _is_ Lucius you're talking about?" she laughed.

"Of course, silly! He's very kind to me, and he positively dotes on the children. I don't know _why_ you can't believe it, but I assure you, he really has changed." Just then, Luna slipped back in and took a seat next to her husband.

"In fact," Ginny said coyly as she stirred her tea, "you might have read in the papers that we get along _more_ than just 'fine'."

When she said this, Neville nearly dropped his cup. She had basically just confirmed the rumors they'd all heard. He looked at her blankly. Luna's face fell. She thought she heard Hermione gasp and Ron practically growl as they hid beneath the Invisibility Cloak behind her chair. She shot a worried glance their way.

Ginny looked up in surprise. "What was that?"

"What?" Luna squeaked.

Her husband jumped in. "Er, I think it was my, uh—"

As if on cue, Klaus came in carrying a large tray with a variety of biscuits and cakes and a jar of honey.

"That's probably what you heard: Klaus cleared his throat to signal his entrance. He does that when he knows I have visitors." He raised an eyebrow and looked up at the servant gratefully. "Thank you, Klaus. That will do."

"Yes, sir. Oh by the way, Mr. Crabbe's secretary called and said he would be running a bit late for your meeting this afternoon."

"Thank you, Klaus." The servant bowed once and left.

Ginny's mouth fell open. "Vincent Crabbe? Since when do you business with him?"

"We met up in France, actually. Really seems to know his stuff. We're thinking of collaborating on some ingredients, seeing if we can pinpoint the properties of certain plants to make potions more effective, or perhaps make some new ones. We hope to come up with some truly remarkable offerings for next year."

"Why, Neville Longbottom – you sound like an executive!" Neither one could suppress a grin.

At last, Luna joined in the conversation. "So, Ginny," she said as she wiped the cinnamon crumbs from her biscuit off her chin, "I heard you were shopping for jewelry the other day and that you had some sent to your house. Did you find anything you liked?"

The redhead witch blinked. "As a matter of fact, I did. How did you know?"

"Apparently, I just missed you. I stopped in to buy Hermione a thank you gift for covering my job, and Mr. Freels' nephew was telling me of your visit. Don't they have a wonderful shop? A bit pricey, but I hope you found something special."

Ginny was practically beaming. She swallowed as tears filled her eyes. "Well, I'm not supposed to say, because we're not sure how we want to announce it . . . but seeing how you're dear friends of mine—"

She bit her lip and sniffed. Waving her wand over her left hand, she whispered a revealing charm. On her third finger appeared the most ostentatious, gaudy ring Luna had ever seen. She looked at her husband with a mixture of grief and imploring.

Neville frowned uneasily. Not quite sure how to begin, he started off with an apology. "I'm sorry, Ginny." Then in one swift movement, he bound her with magical ropes. "I really am. But I have something to tell you, and you must listen."

"What the hell—?" she started to ask but Luna shout of _Silencio _quieted her before she could say anymore.

None of them but Ron had ever seen Ginny this furious before. Her eyes were narrowed with rage. She mouthed a few random obscenities and what might have been a blood-curdling scream, could she have made a sound. Her face had turned red, and her breathing was becoming somewhat erratic.

Tears of regret filled Luna's blue eyes as she said earnestly, "I'm sorry too, Ginny, but Neville's right. We have something you need to hear. It won't be easy for you, but please, let us help you."

The angry witch glared at the newlyweds. It was a bit discomfiting, but they stuck to their guns, waiting for her to calm down. When her breathing had slowed a little and her cheeks had faded back to their normal pale shade, Neville continued.

"Ginny, do you remember after Luna's and my wedding, I said I had something to give you? It was this." He withdrew Brian's letter from his robes and turned it toward her so she could see. There was Brian's meticulous handwriting, the style so much like Percy's it was scary. It read 'Ginny Malfoy'.

The fury in her eyes was soon replaced with confusion and then exasperation. Looking as though she was planning to try and escape the ropes, Neville tightened them so they were just snug enough to hold her but couldn't possibly hurt her. "Ginny. As much bother as this letter has been, you should at least read it," he said as he unsealed the letter with his wand.

He levitated it to her. It hung there perfectly still at eye level. At first, she seemed reluctant to read it and looked around the parchment back at him doubtfully.

"Go on, read it," he prodded gently.

At last, she read Brian Gilpin's letter. It included his thoughts on her fiancé, as well as a fair number of accusing remarks about what Lucius was really up to. Words like _'suspected illegal activity', 'questionable motives', _and '_not to be trusted'_ were sprinkled throughout the text.

While she read, Ginny would sometimes furrow her brow and then shake her head in denial, as if Brian had gotten it all wrong. Her mouth flew open in surprise a number of times. If she could have done anything more than gasp at the Healer's audacity, she would have called him a liar and pronounced the letter pure rubbish. Instead, she cursed silently, mouthed a number of rude words meant for Brian – and to a degree, for Luna and Neville. How _dare_ they be a part of this?

She soon became agitated again, and Luna decided it was time to use her father's tranquility charm. After all, it had always worked on her.

Once she had cast it, Luna reached over and placed a hand on her old friend's shoulder. The redhead relaxed a little at the touch. "Please, Ginny," Luna implored. "This is for your own good. Brian asked that Neville deliver this letter to you as a friend. He cares about you. We all do."

"I'm sure you want to know where Brian's suspicions are coming from," Neville said. "Several weeks ago, he had asked Lucius to take a letter to you out at the manor. Mr. Malfoy did give you a letter from Brian, didn't he?"

Ginny nodded stiffly and looked away from his questioning eyes. "But Brian found out later that it wasn't the one he'd written. He expected a reply, but when you never contacted him, he became concerned. So he did some digging.

"I hate to put you through this, Ginny. But believe me, we are very concerned for your safety, and your children." Then he added boldly, "Maybe Lucius Malfoy is not as reformed as you think he is. Brian doesn't seem to think so."

Ginny looked up at him. Her eyes were filled with frustration. Luna removed the Silencing charm so that she could speak freely. And speak she did.

"Well, he wouldn't, now would he?" she shot angrily. "He wanted to court me as well – so being a rival for my affections, he tried to make Lucius look bad. But I assure you, Lucius is _not_ evil. He loves me, his feelings are genuine, and I forgave him for his past actions—"

Just then, Hermione decided she could no longer remain silent. She flung the Invisibility Cloak off herself and Ron and stepped into full view. "Do you know how his wife died?" she cried.

"H-Hermione, Ron – what the fuck are you doing here?" Wriggling in her seat, she shot Neville an icy glance. "What's going on, anyway? Am I on trial here?" The anger rose in her face once more, despite the charm. She turned to the Longbottoms. "I thought you two were my friends, that you'd be happy for me, my fiancé, _and_ our unborn child!"

"Your _what?!"_ he brother shouted, joining the fray.

"You heard me. I'm pregnant. I am having this baby, and I am marrying the father. And you can guess who that is! You can't stop me. No amount of pleading and nay-saying from Brian Gilpin or any of you will change my mind. Now, release me this instant; I'm going home!"

Hermione stepped closer to her. Her voice was shuddering. "Please, Ginny, we're all very worried for—"

"I should have known _you_ two were behind this! I want you all to leave me alone and let me live my life! Untie me, I want to go _now!"_

But her brother's girlfriend was having none of it. "Not until you've heard what I have to say! I've waited too long – I've worked too hard on this to give up now. You need to know the truth!"

Ginny drew breath to prepare for another verbal assault.

"_Silencio."_

"Thank you, Luna," Hermione whispered.

"Please, Ginny dearest, just listen," Hermione begged, the desperation evident in her eyes and in her voice. "Just give me a few minutes. If you decide he's still the man you want . . . I promise, I'll never say another word."

Unable to do much else, the guest-turned-hostage relented. She glowered at the older witch, who then took a deep breath before speaking.

"We've found the cause of Narcissa's death."

At this news, Ginny's eyes drew wide and the color ran from her face.

"I know you were fond of her, and it must have hurt you terribly to sit by helplessly and watch her die. I'm very sorry for your loss. But it wasn't just a case of pneumonia or some other routine illness. That's why Gilpin couldn't identify it." She paused. "Your mother-in-law had a Muggle disease. I'm not sure how she contracted it, though, when you apparently seem healthy, as do your children . . . Ginny, have you ever heard of Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome? Muggles call it AIDS, and it can deteriorate the body rapidly as it loses it ability to fight even the simplest of maladies. See, I've been working with Dr. Stella Winterbourne for the past few weeks."

This surprised Ginny more than the fact that Narcissa's cause of death had at last been identified. Hermione continued.

"What we can't figure out is how Mrs. Malfoy _got_ it, unless she received some tainted blood – nor why it killed her so quickly. I mean, she obviously didn't have any advantage being at St. Mungo's, as the Healers there wouldn't have known what it was; Muggle physicians could have identified it quickly, possibly prolonged her life, and mostly certainly eased her suffering. She might still be alive, had she been in their care."

Looking earnestly into Ginny's eyes, she added, "And I feel certain that Lucius knew this."

By now, Ginny was on the brink of tears. Her mouth was dry and her heart was racing as she found herself at a bridge she wasn't ready to cross just yet. It was something she'd try to push to the back of her mind, something she'd hoped would never see the light of day. But her memories betrayed her as thoughts of her late mother-in-law, lying in a hospital bed, gasping for air, filled her mind . . . and knowing that she herself was intent on marrying the deceased woman's husband, and in fact, was already carrying his child.

For the first time since she and Lucius had crossed the line from friends to lovers, she doubted herself. Was she about to make a ghastly mistake? Had she already? Her mind was reeling. She was overwhelmed with emotions and thought she might faint. And yet . . . was any of it actually true?

Hermione was always so sure she was right. She would say anything to drive her point home, to prove she knew more than anyone else. Ginny found it all rather sickening. But was she _certain_ of what she was saying, or was it all speculation and happenstance?

Breaking the silence that filled the room, Hermione said, "We suspect that Lucius somehow acquired a sample of the virus, injected his wife with it using a hypodermic needle – they're easy to get in the Muggle world – and magically enhanced it so it would spread more rapidly than normal. There are no known cases of that actually happening, but it's certainly possible. Heaven knows where he got it, but he is a very resourceful man."

At last, Ginny's tears finally spilled over as she mouthed the word, _"Please."_ Ron undid the Silencing charm.

"What is it?" he asked his sister tenderly.

"Hermione, why do you think _I_ would have – what is it? AIDS? I've never gotten any injections or felt ill; I haven't had so much as a cold in months."

"Well, it's also transmitted by sex. If Lucius had relations with his wife after the virus was in her system, he would probably have it too – and you might as well. But I'm pretty sure he wouldn't risk it; surely, he knew the consequences." She stopped for a moment. "I'm sorry to have to ask, but do you know if he and Narcissa were, er, intimate after he returned home?"

"I don't know." Then she asked, "What do Muggles do to keep from spreading it? Surely, they don't just – stop having sex?"

"No, they use condoms to keep from getting it from someone who is infected but may not know it yet. You do know what condoms are, don't you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please, I'm not _that_ out of touch with Muggles and their customs."

No one spoke for a minute or two. Ginny cried quietly, thinking about what she'd heard and weighing it all out in her mind. At last, she said, "I have to get out of here. I need to think. Please remove the ropes, Neville." He complied, and his wife handed Ginny the outerwear she had brought with her.

Neville pleaded, "Believe me, Ginny, I'm sorry. We only want you to be safe. Please, think about what Hermione's said."

But she gave him no assurances. Instead she turned to look at Ron. "Haven't heard much from you, big brother; that's not like you. Did they _Silencio_ you too?" she asked him dryly.

"I didn't trust myself to remain calm," came the gruff reply. "Besides, Hermione asked me to let her do the talking."

"Yes, that was probably wise," she said sarcastically. When she got to the door, she turned around and laughed sardonically. "Now I suppose you'll be _Oblivating_ me, Mrs. Potter?"

Hermione scoffed. "Of course not. Please, just think about what I've said." Ginny looked at her coldly then stormed out of the office. The others released a collective sigh.

"That went rather better than I'd hoped," said Hermione.

"Oh, yeah, fucking splendid," Ron snapped. "She ran right back to him, didn't she?"

"Ron, this is going to take time. She's pregnant, apparently engaged – she can't just leave him without so much as a moment to think it over. The decision she makes could have . . . well, countless repercussions on her for the rest of her life."

When he grumbled, "Looks like her decisions are already having repercussions," she rolled her eyes at him.

"That's enough. We talked to her, she's heard our concerns, and she knows the truth. Now all we can do is wait."

Neville nodded. Hermione had done her best; they all had. All they could do was hope that it would be enough to sway Ginny to reconsider. Luna bit her lip nervously, and Ron shook his head.

Hermione sat down to nibble on a cake and take some tea. Ron sat next to her. He started to pick up something but seemed to have no appetite. He whispered to Hermione, "Would you please _Obliviate_ me? I've got that match tonight, and I don't fancy thinking about my sister sleeping with Lucius Malfoy while I'm trying to concentrate on my playing."

"Yes, if you want me to," she assured him in a low tone. "After we leave."

Soon, Klaus came in to retrieve the trays. Taking this as their hint to leave, Hermione packed up the Invisibility Cloak and walked toward the fireplace. If the circumstances had been different, she thought, this might have been a perfectly lovely afternoon tea. The silence was broken by a lilting voice.

"Why do you think Lucius wanted his wife to die?" Luna pondered aloud.

It was a good question, but one that would have to remain unanswered for now.

End of Chapter

Notes: Hope you enjoyed that. Thanks for reading. Please review.


	18. Chapter 17

Author's Notes: Moving right along, here is the next installment. Thank you, persephone33, for the beta read. :D

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 17**_

Ginny left Neville's shop in a huff, deliberately slamming the back door shut behind her with all the force she could muster. She knew it was childish, but she couldn't help herself. It was a simple act, meant not only to clear her mind of all she'd heard, but also of how she'd been forced to stay and just listen to their mad ravings.

_Clearly, Hermione has slowly been losing her mind, unable to accept the fact that her late, great 'perfect husband' Harry Potter forced himself on me! Just look what she's sunk to._

She stomped her foot in the snow angrily and bit down the urge to scream out at this lunacy. Her fingers itched to draw her wand and shoot off a handful of angry sparks, just to make her feel better. After popping off three or four in no particular direction, she returned her wand to its place within her robes.

Yet none of this satisfied her like she thought it would. She felt a multitude things, but satisfied wasn't one of them. She felt . . . well, honestly, she didn't know _what_ to feel: angry, frustrated, overwhelmed, betrayed at having been lied to – but who was lying?

Not wanting to Apparate home just yet, she started to walk away. She had to think.

Wandering out into the alley, she gasped for breath. She barely noticed the cold wind that was whipping around her. Ginny longed to remain confident and feel sure of herself. Instead, her tears spilled over. It was a lot to take in. There was so much to consider: Brian's letter, Hermione's so-called 'evidence', all of their accusing eyes.

But _were_ they accusing? Or were they concerned, even compassionate? She crossed onto the main road when her mind started reeling again. A horrifying thought struck her: _What if some of what they said was true? _

_Rubbish!_ Ginny scoffed to herself as she stepped up onto the pavement on the other side.

She longed to run home to Lucius. He would hold her tenderly and assure her that everything was all right. In his loving arms, she could forget, and this would all become just the bad dream it seemed to be.

It was obvious, really; her old friends were simply jealous. They envied that she had found such a caring, devoted lover. One who needed her and gave her a wonderful home with such finery she had only dreamed of as a girl growing up in the dirt and squalor that was the Burrow. Sure, the Weasley family had _love_ – they had that in abundance – but some decent robes and a pair of stylish new shoes now and then would have been nice. Rather like the ones that just caught her eye in the store window in front of her. They were shiny, black shoes, adorned with thin straps and little bows that were slightly off-center on the toes and trimmed in rhinestones.

_Those are cute,_ she thought. _Muggle-looking, but cute just the same. _

Only then did she stop to consider her surroundings. Ginny realized she had unintentionally wandered into a Muggle part of town. She looked around for some sort of landmark or street sign she might recognize.

"Where am I?" she asked the empty street. The overcast skies of the grey winter day gave no hint as to the direction she had been walking. Looking over her right shoulder, she couldn't even be certain if that alley was the one that led to the back entrance of Longbottom's Herbology Emporium.

Looking up the block, she spied a coffee shop. The place seemed vaguely familiar to her, almost as if she had been there. She wondered if maybe she was near Stella's neighborhood. Seeing no one on the road or pavement, she cautiously withdrew her wand; keeping it under her cloak, she whispered, _"Point me." _Once she knew which direction was north, she quickly found her way to her Muggle friend's modest flat.

On her way up the stairs, she thought, _I could have called her from a phonebox, but I don't have any Muggle money with me. I just hope she's at home. I need to speak with her. _She arrived at the door, rang the bell, and waited. At last, Stella opened the door.

"Hello, Ginny. I thought you might drop by today."

The witch blinked as her jaw dropped slightly. She stood at the doorstep and gaped at her. "So you knew?"

"Knew what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Stella. You knew I was having tea with two of my old schoolmates and that they would have some 'devastating news' for me," she replied sarcastically.

The physician sighed. "Please, come in and sit down. Can I get you anything?"

Her visitor sniffed. "Unless you mean some answers, then no thank you." At last, she passed through the front door and swept into the cozy living room.

Stella noticed her guest's attitude, but it didn't really surprise her. She herself had delivered enough bad news to fill the Tower of London, and most of those times, the response had been eerily similar. The doctor decided to take an approach of comfort and concern to win her confidence.

"Ginny, you must know we only have your well-being in mind. Did Hermione tell you what we learned about Narcissa Malfoy's death? That she was possibly murdered?"

The redhead fought to keep her composure. "She did, in so many words," came her stiff response as she paced around the small room.

"And you do understand that you need to be tested, just to be sure you're not ill?"

Ginny crossed her arms and fairly shouted, "This is ridiculous, Stella. I feel fine!"

"As I'm sure your late mother-in-law did when she first contracted the disease," she replied calmly. "But it would still be prudent for us to check you. Had Narcissa had the care of Muggle physicians available to her, she could have—"

"Yes, I know, Miss 'Know-It-All' already told me!" she snapped at her. She quickly apologized, rubbing her head and eyes tiredly as she did. "I'm sorry, Stella. This is all so very upsetting! I just can't believe that Lucius would . . . _do_ that to his own wife." She sunk down onto the sofa, put her elbow on her knee, and rested her chin in her hand. She felt like crying.

Her friend sat next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. The fire crackled in the background. "I know, this must be so hard for you to grasp. He's the man you love, after all."

Ginny sniffed as her tears continued. "It's not just that, Stella – we're getting married. I'm carrying his child."

Stella's heart jumped: it seemed this was her lucky day. She hadn't expected Ginny to drop by, much less confess that. Hermione had rung her up about ten minutes before their mutual friend had arrived at the flat and relayed what had happened in Neville's office. "Thought I'd fill you in, just in case she contacts you," Hermione had said. "You're not that far from here. She may want to talk to you; after all, you're safe. You're outside of our world. She doesn't speak to her mother anymore, and as far as I know, she doesn't have anyone else. Not anyone I would call 'trustworthy'."

But this turn of events gave the Muggle physician a fortuitous advantage. Without saying a word, she watched as the young witch sobbed softly, her face in her hands. Finally, Ginny looked up at her, tears streaming down her freckled cheeks and said, "I-I don't know what to do, Stella. I'm scared."

Her friend took her hand and patted it consolingly. "Well, since you're pregnant, you should definitely be tested – for your own peace of mind, and for the sake of your new baby. If you're healthy, then the child will be too, and you can put this all behind you."

Ginny fretted nervously. Biting her thumbnail, she suggested, "Can we do it at your office? Tomorrow, perhaps? How soon would we know?"

"Tomorrow's fine. It shouldn't take long. And the sooner we know, the better, right?" The assurance that she could be seen right away seemed to calm Ginny, and she stopped crying almost immediately.

She relaxed a little and started to wipe her reddened cheeks and eyes. Then she gasped as her hand flew to her opened mouth. Feeling genuine concern for her fiancé, she asked, "What about Lucius? Shouldn't he be tested, too?"

_Ahh, we've reached the only sticking point in the plan,_ Stella thought. She gave her friend a wry smile. "Do you actually think he would submit to a Muggle test?" The very thought of it made Ginny chuckle lightly and shake her head, and the physician went on. "You see, my idea was to test you first, and if you haven't been exposed, we can assume Lucius is out of danger."

Reassured once more, the young mother dropped the subject. She gazed into the small fireplace and watched listlessly as the flames shifted about. Suddenly, the kettle screamed, making both of them jump slightly.

"Excuse me, I need to get that." Walking into her kitchen, she called out, "You sure you don't want anything?" But still her guest declined. Stella returned soon after, a cup of cocoa in one hand and a saucer in the other. She sat down in the chair closest to the fire.

Worried that Ginny might be compelled to go home, Stella forced herself to ask the very thing she had been dreading. "I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but, uh, you haven't had relations with anyone else, have you?"

"No. No one since Draco. And you know, _him_—"

"Potter?" Stella interjected. At the mention of his name, her friend turned away. "Well, do you think your fiancé may have, umm, slept with someone else who might be infected, even if neither of them knows it?"

Although she didn't mean for them to, her words cut like a knife. It was something Ginny hadn't really considered before. He was so very much in love with her . . .

"I don't think so. Frankly, I'd rather not think about that. But I may be able to do some checking. There are ways in our world to, you know, find out the truth." She looked at her sadly and added, "I just don't know if I'm ready for it."

Stella sat silent for a moment. She didn't want to overwhelm her, but she didn't want to lose the momentum.

"Ginny," she began again slowly, "there is one other possibility. I know you thought very highly of Narcissa – but could she have had a lover? A servant, perhaps?"

For some reason Stella didn't understand, this tickled the witch. "Hardly!" she said with a muffled laugh. "Our servants are mostly house-elves – that, and the occasional ghost – not someone a witch or wizard would typically be attracted to."

The Muggle nodded and smiled at her own ignorance. "I see."

Then Ginny's eyes lit up. "There was Severus, but . . . " She stopped in mid-sentence.

"Severus, you say? And did he love Narcissa?"

"I don't know, but – I rather think he did."

The doctor nodded, excited that they may have finally stumbled onto something. "Can we go and see him? Where does he live?"

"He doesn't. He was killed."

The physician cocked her head and looked at her, bemused. "Ginny, I'm beginning to think associating with you and your family is a very dodgy business."

But her friend didn't laugh. Sounding rather forlorn, she said, "It would seem that way. The investigators thought he may have been killed by a . . . a Muggle. He had no love for them, but still – it was just so tragic. So senseless."

Stella nodded then took another sip of her cocoa. "I am sorry to have to be so blunt, but were Narcissa and Severus . . . sleeping together?"

Ginny's breath caught in her throat. It was like a switch had been thrown. Her eyes lit up and a smile gradually spread across her face. Astounded, she slowly rose to her feet.

"Of course, that's _it!_ She got it from him! It all makes sense now. I knew that Lucius would never have hurt her. They were married for over 20 years. He wouldn't have had his son without her!"

Stella looked at her questioningly. "What are getting at?" she asked.

"The virus!" Ginny said, pacing excitedly around the small room as she wrung her hands. "Hermione said it was transferred by sexual contact. Narcissa _had_ to have slept with Severus; it's the only logical explanation! Because I'm pretty sure _I_ don't have AIDS, and Lucius wouldn't take a chance with his own life, mine, or his unborn child. He wants children more than anything. He said he always regretted not having more with Narcissa, and he's very excited about this one."

"I hope you're right, dear."

Donning her warm cloak and other trappings of winter, Ginny stepped toward Stella's front door. She look revitalized, as if there were some hope, and that not all was lost. "Look, Stella, I have to go. I'll stop by your office tomorrow. Any particular time?"

"Mid-mornings are usually best, but you might want to call early to confirm."

"Yes, of course, whatever you need me to do. I promise, I'll be there!" She rewrapped herself in her warm outer layers and hugged Stella. "Thank you! Goodbye!" She was out of the flat and had vanished before the woman inside had a moment to set foot onto her stoop.

"See you tomorrow, then," she said to the thin air and clouds of breath Ginny had left behind.

* * * * *

It was nearly 6:00 in the evening, and Ginevra wasn't home yet. Her absence, although slightly alarming, gave Lucius just enough time to meet briefly with Lord Voldemort. He was required to give his master a weekly update on what was happening outside of Malfoy Manor. While Lucius would rather have skipped this meeting, he felt it was still unsafe to disobey a direct order. For though the Dark Lord was somewhat weakened by the final battle with Harry Potter, the Dark Mark on his servant's forearm still burned now and again.

When Lucius stepped back through the portal and into his study, he was surprised to see a figure sitting in the darkened room.

"Nicolette! How did you – what are you _doing_ here?" He spoke somewhere between mild annoyance and stunned surprise.

"Nossing, really. I just, I miss you, is all. I miss your arms around me, your leeps kissing me." She sighed then added breathily, "Your body on top of mine. Don't you vant me anymore, Monsieur Malfoy? I am a good lover, no? I pleased you, didn't I?"

"Of course you did, my dear. You're very good, but I . . . "

She stepped closer to him and folded her hands in front of her as if she were praying. "Please say you won't sack me, zat you won't throw me to zee volves!" she pleaded desperately. She was now standing next to him, expecting him to wrap his arms around her.

He didn't disappoint.

She sighed contentedly into his chest. Lucius exhaled heavily. He stroked her hair and told her, "I don't intend to sack you. You have been a loyal servant. We just need to . . . see what else you're good at."

"Let me show you," she whispered in his ear then knelt down in front of him. Tossing his robes aside, she grabbed for the zipper of his trousers. "I can do vickedly delightful zings viss my tongue."

"No, please, get up. I can't – my fiancée will be coming home any moment." He reached two fingers beneath her chin and gently raised her head so he could see her entire face. "I _do_ like you, Nicolette, and although that does sound wonderful, I can't risk breaking her heart."

Nicolette rose up and crossed her arms indignantly. Standing arms length away from him, she pouted like a spoiled child. She was tempted to sneer at him but decided that wouldn't help her chances if she wanted to keep her job.

"Zen lock zee door. And just memory charm her if she sees somezing she shouldn't. You've done it before," she reminded him with a smirk.

He cleared his throat. "Nicolette. Please, sit down." The maid complied, her arms firmly in place under her breasts. She looked rather angry, clearly disappointed at his denying her the chance to impress him with her skill. He merely looked at her.

"Listen, Nicolette. I _can't_ memory charm her is because Obliviating a pregnant witch can be dangerous."

Her face fell. "She's – she's pregnant? But she _can't_ be!"

"She is, and we're marrying soon. I've always wanted more children."

Seeing her career at Malfoy Manor suddenly going up in smoke, she began to shake. "Please don't make me go!" she begged, planting kisses on his face as she clung to him. Nicolette's heaving breasts pressing against him and her sweet vulnerability were almost too much for him to resist. But his ears pricked up at the sound of the manor's large front door falling shut. He removed her arms from his shoulders and backed away from the sobbing girl.

"Please, sit down," her employer said to her in an authoritative yet calming voice. She took her place in the chair that was behind her; he chose the sofa that faced the doorway so he could see his fiancée as she entered the room. And judging by the way the front door had been closed, he could almost sense Ginevra was agitated.

"Now, what seems to be the problem, Nicolette?" As soon as he said this, she heard his voice inside her head saying, _'Tell me you don't get on with the housekeeper. She is envious of your youth.'_

Nicolette stared at him. The wizard nodded his head and raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to follow his instructions. She complied, and before she had finished the first sentence, Ginny came into the study. Lucius looked up at her.

"Oh! Good afternoon, Ginevra," he greeted her pleasantly. "How was your visit with Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom?"

She didn't respond right away. Instead, she pursed her lips and avoided both of his gaze and Nicolette's. What would she _say?_ How could she ever tell him the horrible accusations they had made about him? She had run through it over and over in her mind, rehearsing it, even imagining his responses, his fervent denials . . . and the very idea of it made her nauseous.

"Excuse me," Ginny uttered as she ran to the loo to throw up. When she returned several minutes later, her stomach empty and her nerves much calmer, she grinned uneasily and explained her abrupt departure. "Sorry – morning sickness. Stella says it's a misnomer. It can happen anytime of day." When she returned, she noticed that Lucius was holding a brandy snifter in his hand, and there was a glass of ice water setting on the table before him.

"I took the liberty of getting you some water," her fiancé said kindly. Then he asked, "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes, I am, thank you." But her voice betrayed a confidence she didn't feel. She still couldn't fathom how this would turn out well. Yet the others were looking up at her expectantly, so she felt she should say _something._

"I hope I haven't interrupted anything important," she began.

"Not at all, my dear."

Ginny walked over to where they were sitting. She straightened her shoulders and crossed her arms. "I need to speak to Lucius," she announced. Then giving the servant a pointed look, she added, "_Alone._"

"Certainly," her future husband said, bowing his head slightly. "If you would excuse us please, Nicolette?"

By then, the girl was already standing. She curtseyed and made a hasty exit. Once the door had latched shut behind her, Ginny shook her head and clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Honestly, darling, I don't know why you keep her around. She's positively worthless! Every time she's in my room, photos get moved and my brush disappears. What purpose does she serve, anyway?"

"Funny you would ask that. We were just discussing her duties."

She took a step forward and turned to face him, her expression serious. "Which are what, exactly?"

He sighed. "That's the trouble, you see. She can't cook, she's not good with children, and her cleaning . . . well, to her credit, she did come to me, rather than the other way around. So she knows there's a problem and she's _trying_ to improve."

"Well, I suppose that's somewhat admirable. But if she has no skills, why was she hired in the first place?" Lucius didn't answer right away and instead gazed into the fire. Exasperated, Ginny scoffed. "Oh, never mind. You obviously have plans for her."

"Why was she hired?" he asked absently as his finger slowly circled the rim of his snifter. "She was hired after her older sister, Dominique, left to marry Vincent Crabbe."

Ginny's mouth fell open as her arms dropped to her sides. "Really? Nicolette is Vincent Crabbe's sister-in-law?"

"_Ex_-sister-in-law," he corrected her. "But then, you know he's divorced."

"Right. But still, I had no idea. So she worked here?"

Lucius nodded. "That's how Vincent met her. Dominique used to serve drinks and hors d'oeuvresat the large parties that were given regularly here at the manor. By the time the couple got engaged, we had all but stopped having parties, so Narcissa decided not to fill the post. But Dominique had always hoped that her little sister could come to England. She asked Narcissa if she would consider hiring Nicolette anyway. So as her wedding and farewell gift, my wife kindly agreed to offer the young girl a job as soon she was able to leave France. She arrived after Dominique had her second son, and she's been with us ever since."

He took another sip of his brandy and set it on the table in front of him.

His answer, however noble, didn't exactly appease his fiancée. "That's very generous indeed. But if we have no work she's qualified for, then why is she still here?" She stared at him as if the solution were obvious.

"I don't know. I suppose it's – kind of an obligation to Dominique for her years of service here."

She shook her head and gave him a sardonic smile. "I think you've more than covered that. I'm sorry, but Narcissa's the one who made the promise, and seeing how she's gone now, I just . . . I don't think we should honor it all our lives."

Lucius steepled his fingers and placed them under his chin. "You know, Ginevra," he said at last, "you may be right. Perhaps it is time we let her go. Tomorrow I can tell her she's being given 90 days notice – that's more than enough time for her to find another post. It even gives prospective employers time for a one-week trial period. Surely, she'll find something suitable. I'll start asking around the office to see if anyone might need something young, pretty, and French to grace their home," he finished with a smirk.

"But," Ginny said, "before she goes, let's keep her around for one final party: our wedding celebration." As she said this, she paced to where she stood directly in front of him. He took her hand in his and smiled.

"A splendid idea. So did you decide whether you want a large ceremony or a more private, one followed by a gala party announcing the start of our new life together?"

"Oh, I don't want an extravagant wedding; I just went through all that with Luna! I think something small would be perfect. It's too bad the weather is so dreary just now. I think an outdoor wedding would be wonderful."

"We could even charm the gardens so the flowers are in bloom and the air is warm. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

Ginny sighed. She bent down in front of him and laced her arms around his neck. "Oh darling, I love you so much. You're not a monster, are you? You're a wonderful, loving man."

"Me? A monster? Of course not! I've just agreed to dismissing a servant, at your request, and giving her three months to find another post. A home she can be happy in – I even offered to help her find it. How could anyone say I'm a monster?"

She sat down next to her fiancé and shook her head. "I don't know. Anyone who _does_ . . . well, they just don't know you like I do." She kissed him again, and he returned it passionately, pulling her closer to him.

Their kisses grew in intensity, and his hands went inside her robes. She backed away a little and whispered, "I'd love to, but not here, darling . . . not now, anyway. Rhiannon and Lucas will be coming down for dinner soon. But ask me later."

"It's a date, then. I won't let you forget." He kissed her once more, as if sealing her promise.

She leaned into his chest and relaxed. After a few moments of peaceful reflection in each others' arms, Lucius stirred. He gently raised her head off his shoulder so he could look at her and then took her hand.

"I completely forgot. You came in here to tell me something. What was it?" He kissed the back of her hand delicately then pushed the sleeve of her soft jumper up to expose her arm.

_This is nice,_ she decided and rolled her head back against the sofa. The nagging feeling that she should confront him returned briefly, only to slip away as she fell into the sensation of his lips inching up the softer side of her arm.

"Umm . . . " Ginny hesitated momentarily, pretending to have forgotten. Then she exclaimed, "Oh yes! I remember now. I ran into Stella Winterbourne today."

"Who?" he asked. Meanwhile, he continued to languidly kiss his way over her elbow and toward her shoulder.

"You know, the Muggle doctor I'm friends with. Percy and her cousin Brian Gilpin were mates at Hogwarts."

_Brian Gilpin._

It was a name that still grated on Lucius's nerves. Ginny tensed ever so slightly when he stopped kissing her arm. He sat back and turned to face her. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, and a flicker of concern shot through her. But it was stilled quickly when he smiled and asked cordially, "Really? And how is Dr. Winterbourne?"

"Fine, I suppose. But she was more worried about me, being pregnant and all."

It was then that he dropped her hand. Straightening up, he looked at her more deliberately. "How did she know that? You didn't _tell_ her, did you?"

_Oh, dear, I never dreamed he'd be upset . . ._

"I was sick while I was visiting her flat," she lied.

He bit down a snarl. "I thought you were visiting the Longbottoms," he said, clearly annoyed but trying to hide it.

"I was. But I saw Stella on the way home—"

"Why didn't you just Apparate home?"

She shrugged. "I felt like walking for a bit."

"In the cold?"

Finally, Ginny decided she'd had enough. "Yes! In the cold. What is this, a bloody inquisition?" she practically shouted as she turned away from him and toward the arm of the sofa.

_So many in one day! _she thought. _And here I am, trying to protect you . . ._

"I'm sorry, Ginevra. Please. Look at me," he urged. His tone was quiet and caring. She complied, feeling guilty for having lost her temper.

What she didn't know was that Lucius was already reading her mind, probing for details of her outing, and searching for the truth. He took hold of her shoulders so he could see her straight on. He held her gaze and asked what he really wanted to know: "Was her cousin there?"

"Brian? Of course not," she replied honestly, not daring to laugh at him but wanting to.

_How ridiculous men can be!_

Ginny smiled in disbelief. "Is that what's bothering you? Even if he were there, I would have barely said hello to him. He's just a friend. _You're_ my love." She placed a hand on his cheek and kissed him softly.

When he was satisfied she was telling the truth, he released her mind. And yet, there was something he couldn't quite get at . . .

A loud pop announced that a house-elf had joined them.

"Oh! Please excuse Shilla, sir and madam. Shilla not want to be rude, but Toddy said for Shilla to tell master and mistress that their dinner is being ready, and will master and mistress please to be coming soon." She smiled a toothy grin. Lucius rolled his eyes, but Ginny smiled back at the eager servant.

"Yes, Shilla, we'll be along shortly," she assured her. "Please see that the children are ready and seated at the table." The elf nodded quickly, causing her ears to flap. And then she was gone.

Ginny turned back to Lucius. The moments of tension and doubt vanished, he said to her, "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just the jealous type. You're so lovely, and I know that Brian had sort of a thing for you . . . Until we're married, until you've given me your word and we are magically bound for life, I suppose I'll always worry a little. Do you forgive me?"

"Of course, silly. I told you, Brian is just a friend, and mainly because he knew Percy. He could never be anything more to me." She laced her fingers in his. "Let's go join our family for a nice, quiet dinner."

But instead of following her out of the room, he gasped and said suddenly, "I've got it! I have an idea who to ask about a post for Nicolette."

The disappointment clear on her face, she asked him petulantly, "Can't it wait?"

"Darling, I'll join you in five minutes. I promise."

Pointing a finger at him, she teased, "You'd better, Lucius Malfoy." He smiled at her. She walked down the hallway toward the dining room.

He walked over to his study fireplace. Taking a handful of Floo powder, he brought a chair closer and settled in. "Karl von Krauss!" he called into the hearth. Moments later, the head of the man who had made Ginny's skin crawl a little at Luna and Neville's reception was in the roaring flames.

"Hullo, Malfoy! How are you this evening?"

"Doing well, Karl. And yourself?"

"Not bad. Verla's going out of town tomorrow for two whole months, and our stock of wenches and maids has never been finer. Karl's going to have a lot of fun over the next few weeks," he added with an obnoxious wink.

"I'm sure you will," the blond wizard said with a nod. "Say, Karl, we need to remove one of our servant girls, a squib, and I told Ginevra I'd help find her a new post. Do you have any openings that might work?"

Karl looked at his old friend suspiciously. "That depends. How old is she?"

"She's just turned twenty."

This intrigued the fat man. "Does she have any experience? Is she, uh, well-trained?"

"Well, she's not much on domestic chores . . . but she can serve drinks, and she can bring you to your knees. And I must say that I've enjoyed having her around."

"Then why the hell are you sending her away?" Karl narrowed his eyes. "She's not getting all _clingy_, is she? Wanting to marry you, have your babies, and all that rot girls who don't know their place sometimes say?"

Lucius chuckled. "No, nothing like that. It's just that, well, Ginevra and I are about to be married, and—"

"But that's when you'll need her the most, old boy! When the wife gets to be, you know, the same old, same old. Got to keep things exciting!"

"No, Karl. Ginevra's all I need."

"Well, if you really feel it's time she moved on . . . Is she good-looking? Good figure?"

He laughed out loud at this. "Really, Karl! Would I sleep with someone who wasn't attractive?"

The other wizard was considering it very heavily. But for some reason, he wasn't quite convinced he should add her to his household staff. At least, not yet.

"She's French." Then Lucius revealed in a hushed tone, "She enjoys role-playing. Polyjuice games are a favorite of hers."

That sealed the deal, and Karl could barely get the words out quickly enough.

"All right, I'll take her!" As if he was afraid Lucius would change his mind, he snapped, "Can you send her over the day after tomorrow?"

"Calm down, man. She can't leave until after Ginevra and I are married, so it will be a few weeks. We're going to have a large celebration party, and Nicolette was trained for that sort of thing."

"Nicolette, eh? Sound delicious. Well, thanks, Lucius. I owe you one!" he said as he waved goodbye.

"That you do. I'll be in touch." Once the flames had subsided, the master of Malfoy Manor went to join his family for dinner.

* * * * *

Later that night, as Ginny was drifting off to sleep alone in her bed, a nagging thought entered her mind that kept her from resting for a while.

_When did I ever tell Lucius that Brian was interested in me?_

~End of Chapter~

Notes: Hope that satisfied your L/G cravings for now. :-)


	19. Chapter 18

Author's Notes: Thanks to persephone33 for beta reading.

In this chapter: The waiting game.

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 18**_

But Ginny couldn't bring herself to go to Stella's office the next day. Or the day after that, for that matter.

For as badly as she wanted to know if she were ill and could be dying, the very prospect of it terrified her. So she found creative ways to avoid it, including telling herself that she didn't want any devastating news to ruin their family's Christmas. And for the moment, she put it out of her mind.

She ended up putting it out of her mind for quite some time.

Several weeks later, well into the New Year, Ginny summoned her courage at last. She stood in the loo nearest the front door, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She shook down a nervous shudder.

_I __**have**__ to do this. For my children's sake._

She packed up her little ones and took them on their first trip to Muggle London. Rhiannon was a mixture of amusement and amazement by some of the sights. Automobiles, phone boxes, street lamps, Muggles in their 'funny clothes' – all of it held her fascination. Her mother hated that she would probably end up _Obliviating_ the entire visit from the girl's young mind.

They got to Stella's office around mid-morning. The doctor explained that all she would do is make a tiny pin-prick for a sample of their blood. Ginny felt relieved, knowing that with her magic, they wouldn't even feel the momentary sting of the needle.

As Dr. Winterbourne finished drawing the last sample of blood, she asked her friend, "How far along are you, Ginny?"

"My last period was November 2nd, and it's now, uh, January 28th—"

"The 29th," the physician corrected.

"Yes, the 29th. So I'm about 12 or 13 weeks."

Stella grinned at her and asked, "Would you like to know if you're having a boy or a girl?" Ginny couldn't help but smile back.

"Muggles can actually _tell?_" she marveled.

"Yes, but not from a blood test. It's more like what we did when you were pregnant the last time." The young mother thought for a few seconds then Stella pressed her for an answer. "So, do you want to know the baby's sex?"

She thought for a few seconds then said eagerly, "Sure. Why not?"

Dr. Winterbourne reached around to turn on the lamp and select the tools she would need. Ginny took this as her cue to lie back on the frigid examining table. Almost instantly she wished had taken the time to cast a warming charm, but she shrugged it off. She adjusted her position and prepared herself mentally for the procedure.

Stella tried to make small talk about her holidays, but Ginny wasn't paying much attention. She closed her eyes and said, "Please, let's just get this over with."

The doctor completed her work in silence. When she was finished, she said, "Plan on coming back Friday next for the results. If there's a delay, I'll let you know."

Ginny's eyes widened as she repeated with surprise, "Friday? Why so long?"

"I'm sorry, but the lab technician who does these is out. His wife and kids all have the flu."

The witch relaxed a little and gave her a slight smile. She thanked Stella then bundled up Lucas, Rhiannon, and herself. The three of them left Muggle London and were soon back at their home.

Ginny felt restless. She briefly considered time traveling to avoid having to wait several days for their results. But going forward in time and back again was even more physically demanding than using a Time Turner, and she was already feeling tired. She opted to stay in the present and spend time with her children in the playroom.

Rhiannon was busy entertaining her little brother with a puppet show. Lucas giggled each time the marionettes disappeared quickly from the make-shift stage. He clapped his tiny hands and laughed loudly when they reappeared. Ginny smiled at the sight. Taking a seat on a floral-patterned ottoman underneath the window, she settled in to watch her children play as light flakes of snow fell softly outside.

Eventually, Lucas grew bored and cranky. It had been a trying day for them all, and Ginny decided it was time for his nap. She picked him and laid him down in his crib. As she did, she noticed how much like Draco he was, especially when he was crabby. When he was happy or content, he seemed to look a bit more like Lucius.

As her mind turned to her fiancé, she briefly debated whether she should just tell him about their trip today. She soon thought better of it, and although she regretted doing so, cast a memory charm on her chatty little girl – just in case she mentioned the strange things she'd seen that day. Not that there was anything to _hide_ . . . but if the tests were negative, she reasoned, there was no reason to alarm him.

Ginny and Rhiannon also laid down for a rest. They didn't get up until Toddy rang them for tea.

* * *

Neville was standing in front of his office fireplace, pacing. He was expecting visitors at any moment. Although Goodspeak and Petree themselves weren't coming this time, the latter of which he found overbearing and rather annoying, he still felt anxious. Butterflies had invaded his stomach shortly before lunch, causing him to forego dessert.

At last, the two wizards he'd been expecting arrived.

"Come in, Marcus. Vincent." He ushered them into his office. Indicating the tray that was close by, he asked, "Would either of you like some tea?" They declined. The two men sat down at the table, the same one where Ginny had been all those weeks ago. Their host took a seat next to the tea set and helped himself to a cup.

Flint got straight to work. He reached into his bag and withdrew a writing pad and quill. Without first asking permission, he reached out his hand and silently helped himself to a bottle of ink on the shop owner's desk. Neville blinked, not quite sure what to say at first.

"Doesn't the Ministry provide you with ink?" was all he could come up with.

Marcus looked up from his parchment and did not comment. Instead, he got right down to business. "What do you have for me, Longbottom?"

Thrown off a bit by Marcus's abrupt manner, the herbologist cleared his throat and began.

"Yes. Well, I was able to identify the material that was found on under Macnair's fingernails and on his kitchen table, the stuff the Aurors brought—"

"Petree and Goodspeak?

"Yeah. They brought it over a few weeks ago and asked me to analyze it."

"I know, Longbottom, that's why I'm here. What was it?" the detective asked in a clipped tone.

"Now, there isn't test to be absolutely _certain_, but it definitely had all the qualities of Sacred Datura. It's a relative of the nightshade plant. Both can be dangerous, even when handled properly."

"Nightshade," Flint repeated, his quill scratching feverishly across the pad. "Tell me, if it's so harmful, why the hell is it called 'sacred'?"

Neville gave a nervous laugh. "You know, I wondered that myself. Turns out some native cultures use it – or rather, _used_ it – in their religious ceremonies. It was part of a boy's spiritual test for manhood. Sadly, some boys did not survive," he finished, mumbling the last part.

"And you suspect that handling this plant, this uh, Da-_too_-ra . . . you think that's what killed him?" Marcus concluded.

At last, Vincent jumped in. "Oh, I doubt it. If he handled it very often, he surely knew what he was doing, and the risks involved."

"What's it used for today?"

Flint's former housemate smirked. "What else? Illegal potions. But you won't find it as an ingredient in any book, other than those that followers of You-Know-Who might just 'happen' to have in their personal collections."

Marcus leaned back and crossed his arms. A smile spread slowly across his face. "So where'd you find it, Vince? In your father's study?" he asked, causing old housemate to color slightly. Flint took little notice and continued with his interview. "What kinds of potions we talking about here, Longbottom?"

"Mostly the kinds that alter perception and effect brain functions. You know, the ones that—"

"Fuck with your mind?" the detective butted in, giving him a wicked grin.

"Y-yeah," he agreed, a bit unnerved by the older wizard's toothy smile.

Growing impatient, Marcus snapped his fingers and started to demand more information, but the younger wizards really had nothing more to offer at this time. So he packed away his quill, his pocket notepad, and the ink bottle. He stepped toward the fireplace to Floo back to the Ministry to report his findings to Goodspeak and Petree as soon as they returned from the continent.

"They got a lead this week some Death Eaters had been spotted around Hamburg," he explained. "They're due back at 2:00, and I want to be there, ready and waiting for them."

"Umm . . . Marcus? My ink?" Neville reminded him.

"What? Oh, yeah. Sorry," he said as he handed it over. "Thank you, gentlemen. You've been most helpful."

"No problem."

"See you, Marcus."

Giving each one a nod, he simply said, "Crabbe. Longbottom." Then he stepped into the fireplace.

Once he had gone, Neville said, "See? That didn't take long." He glanced up at the clock on the mantle and remarked, "You know, my next meeting isn't for two hours."

"And?"

"And before that, I'm going to St. Mungo's to see a Healer friend of mine. He says he has some samples for me to look at."

"Samples? Why are you telling me?"

"Well, I'd like you to come along, if you've got time. I've been wanting to talk with you some more about those plants and herbs I've been studying. I thought with some careful crossbreeding, we may be able to harness some of their lesser known properties."

"Isn't that _your_ area?"

"It is, but . . . " He paused, slightly exasperated.

"Look," he finally confessed, his eyes welling up a little, "it's Tuesday, so I'm going to visit my parents. I wanted to see if those new blends we've come up with are helping them in any way. I figured you might want to observe the changes for yourself."

Knowing how difficult it was for Neville to see his parents and remain completely objective from a work standpoint, Vincent decided he probably should go. He changed the subject. "These plants you mentioned, the hybrids: what do you want to know?"

"Well, I have a few ideas, but I'll need your help with them. I've never been all that good at potions."

"Really?" he said sarcastically. "And just how many cauldrons _did_ you melt in Snape's class?"

"None! Well – maybe one or two. So you'll come with me?"

"Yeah, all right." Vincent eyed the morsels that lined the tray and licked his lips. "Say, is that biscotti any good?"

Neville smiled and assured him, "It's the best. Our baker is from Milan." He magically wrapped it all up in a bag and handed it to him. "Here, now let's go by Floo."

* * *

Once Dr. Winterbourne had Ginny's test results back, Brian convinced her that they should meet with Hermione before giving them to the expectant mother. At first, she couldn't see the point, but the Healer felt that Mrs. Potter's nearly saint-like status in the wizarding world might carry some weight with the Aurors who had handled their mutual friend's case. She would be the ideal person to present the evidence, should they decide to go forward with it.

The three of them sat at the kitchen table in the Potter's modest home. It was around 8:00 in the evening, and Jamie and Lily were upstairs getting ready for bed. "Well, thank God for some good news," Hermione said when the doctor told them that Ginny and her children were all HIV negative.

"Yes, it's very good news," Brian agreed.

"I don't understand. How did she manage to avoid it?"

The Muggle doctor shrugged. "He was very careful: he either used condoms, or more likely, found another partner."

"I'm sure he'd have no qualms about doing that," Hermione said with a scoff.

Brian interrupted, saying, "Stella, what else did you find out?"

She explained the other test she had administered. "According to my friend at the DNA lab, Lucas and Rhiannon do _not_ have the same father. But as for the babies – she's having twins – there's an almost 90 chance that they and Lucas do. But they couldn't tell for sure without a sample from—"

"_Lucius Malfoy,"_ Mrs. Potter gasped, her mind in a whirl. "Of course, that would make sense! But was he even _out_ then?" She paused. "Brian, do you think – that is, would he have had the opportunity?"

"What are you saying?"

"I was just wondering, who could I talk with about Mr. Malfoy's release date? That is, exactly when did he get out of Azkaban?"

"Marcus Flint might be a good place to start. I'm sure he'd have access to all those files. But I have heard they're not very accurate. Dementors are not good record keepers."

For some reason, this made Hermione chuckle. "I'm sure they're not. But what about the people who sign those papers and authorize the releases?"

"I'd still recommend Flint. Neville says he's become involved, to some degree, since this case and Professor Snape's could be connected. Go see him when you have some time. Show him these results, if you think it'll help."

"Frankly, I am a bit leery of the Code of Wizarding Secrecy. Some of those ministry types take it so seriously! They're so Anti-Muggle, it's ridiculous."

He nodded in agreement; he was all too familiar with _that_ feeling. "What's your theory, Hermione?"

She sighed. "It's just that, well . . . I've always wanted to be able to clear Harry's name. Now that we know Ginny's already had a child by Lucius Malfoy, I think we know who attacked her that evening almost two years ago."

"I suppose it _is_ possible," Brian mused, "for a very capable wizard. But he had just left Azkaban. Wouldn't his powers have been somewhat diminished?"

"He could have had help. They never did find _You-Know-Who's_ corpse . . . and he's always been in league with him."

Meanwhile, poor Stella sat there, dumbfounded, only picking up little bits from the interchanges. "Excuse me," she finally cut in, "I think I missed my Witchcraft, Level 1 lesson – what _are_ you two talking about? And who the hell is 'you-know-who'?"

Remembering her own ignorance of the wizarding world more than a decade earlier, Hermione set about explaining Unforgivables, the Dementors, and some of the basic laws: what was allowed, what wasn't, what was technically not 'illegal' but questionable at best. She finished by telling her about Azkaban and what sort of place Lucius had been in for the past few years, and what effects it might have had on his body and his psyche. The very thought of it caused Stella to shudder.

"You know," she said, "the more I hear about your world, the happier I am to be in mine." Returning their focus to the information they now had, she asked, "So, what's our next step? There must be, uh, wizarding policemen we can take this information to?"

"Yes, we can probably take it to the Aurors who were involved in Ginny's case," her cousin said, more to Hermione than to Stella.

The Muggle repeated the strange word. "Aurors. Is that what this, uh Marcus Flint is – an Auror?"

Brian snorted. "He _wishes_ he was – or so I've been told. He does more detective work and research. He does the leg work, while the Aurors do the more dangerous work of actually facing these bastards and taking them down."

"Let's not split hairs, Brian. Can one of you get the results to 'wizarding headquarters', or whatever you call?" said Stella.

Hermione nodded and promised she would go see Marcus at the Ministry as soon as she could. Suddenly, they heard the stomping of feet overhead. Peals of laughter followed, then a heavy 'thud', a slow, long cry, and the shouting of, "Mummy! Come quick!"

"Oh dear, sounds like the natives are getting restless," her new friend said, secretly grateful that she herself had no children. "We'll just show ourselves out."

* * *

During the long days that followed their tests, Ginny grew restless. She told herself they were all going to be fine; the tests were just a precaution. But try as she might, she couldn't get one glaring fact out of her mind: Narcissa had died of a deadly disease, one transmitted primarily by sex. Yet oddly enough, her husband appeared to be perfectly healthy. It just didn't seem logical.

Of course, she wasn't so naive to think that the two of them _didn't_ have relations at all after he returned from Azkaban. In her quest to find Lucius not only healthy, but blameless in his wife's death, Ginny eventually found the answer – the only one she could accept.

"It wasn't Lucius at all. Narcissa must have slept with Severus," she said to herself again in the mirror as she finished tying up her hair the morning of her follow-up appointment.

"Naturally suspicious, Lucius learned of her infidelity and her illness. Doing so would have certainly been within his ability, and he took steps to protect himself." Other than Hermione's rather bizarre story, which Ginny frankly doubted was even possible, this was the only thing that made sense.

But what Ginny didn't know was that although Severus had longed for his relationship with Narcissa to go there, it hadn't. He respected and feared Lucius enough to refrain from touching the man's wife. He ached for her love, but after all, he knew his boundaries.

It was only one assumption of many that she had that would soon be proven wrong.

When Dr. Winterbourne told her at last that neither she nor her children had the dreaded virus, Ginny was overjoyed. Her thoughts turned quickly to her fiancé. "What does this mean for Lucius?" she asked anxiously.

"They must have done what Muggles do: use condoms or go without – which doesn't sound likely for a man who had been away for as long as he had."

Ecstatic, Ginny hugged the physician and burst into tears. "I don't care how it happened, Stella . . . but I'm just so glad that everyone's okay! Thank you!"

"Wait, Ginny, I have something else to tell you."

She turned around and smiled eagerly. "Oh, that's right! Boy or girl?"

"Actually, both: you're having twins. But Ginny—"

But the witch was gone, vanished on the spot, leaving the doctor to ponder what to do next.

* * *

With her hope restored and her spirits renewed, Ginny decided to pop in the Ministry to check on the status of their marriage license. She'd had her doubts, but now she was anxious to set the date, make the honeymoon arrangements, and plan the party for after their return.

She entered the Ministry building and had her wand checked. As the guard inspected it, she thought of how different – and difficult – it was getting married this time. It hadn't been as easy as just filling out a form, paying the fee, and receiving a license, as she and Draco had done years ago. Because her fiancé was a former convict, there was a 30-day waiting period before a license could be issued. It was sort of a 'cooling off' period, just in case the partner who didn't have a criminal record (which was usually the bride) was being forced to marry against her will or was having second thoughts. Due to bloodlines and property rights, wizard divorces were terribly complicated, nastily expensive, and were to be avoided at all costs.

She approached the clerk at the Marriage License office and made her inquiry. The slight little fellow grimaced at her. He gazed down at his records, made an odd face, and then explained that her license was being delayed. "Just briefly," he assured her as he reshuffled his papers like the perfect bureaucrat.

"Delayed? Are you sure?" she ask him doubtfully.

"I'm sorry, miss, but your application seems to be missing from my files. All I have in its place is a slip of parchment with some scribbles on it."

Ginny was flabbergasted.

"So you have no actual record that I applied? No copies or anything? It was around Christmas. I know it was done in the last ten days of the year."

"It's simply not here. I truly am sorry. Perhaps you should just, er, reapply?"

"But we've already waited 32 _days!"_ Ginny refused to leave without the license. She said firmly, "I want to speak with your supervisor."

"Y-yes, miss," the clerk answered nervously.

"And stop calling me 'miss'! I am _Mrs._ Malfoy!"

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy. I'll just go and get her." He left his station hurriedly. He returned with a woman with fashionable glasses and just a hint of grey around her temples.

"Hello, I'm Mrs. Dempster. Harvey here tells me you are having a bit of trouble. What seems to be the problem . . . I'm sorry, what is your name?"

"Mrs. Malfoy," Ginny informed her. "The problem is that _someone_ has lost my application for a marriage license. I applied over a month ago, and now Harvey here can't seem to find any trace of it!"

"Malfoy, Malfoy – why does that sound familiar?" The woman searched through the clerk's files then moved to the storage cabinet. Several minutes later, she exclaimed, "Ah, here we are! It was in the 'Married' file."

She scoffed. "Why on Earth would it be there?"

"Well, I suppose since your last name is Malfoy, and his is as well, someone presumed that you two had already married. But see here? This proves that you have not."

The supervisor leaned over the counter and pointed to a spot on the form that was blank. Ginny expected it to say 'Date of Marriage', but it didn't. Instead, it just said "HOLD" and the initials _EG_.

Ginny was becoming rather agitated. If she didn't leave soon, the children would both be up from their naps.

"Who is EG, and why are they holding my application?"

"I'm not completely sure. Let me check. Harvey, get Mrs. Malfoy some tea, won't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Even though she was being seen to, she was still annoyed. She would have drunk the tea, but just to aggravate Harvey, she left the cup untouched and the drink go cold. When Mrs. Dempster returned, she had a man at her side, who for some reason, was vaguely familiar to Ginny.

"Mrs. Malfoy," she said, "this is Edmund Goodspeak. He said he needs to talk with you."

When she stood up to shake his hand, her legs nearly fell out from underneath her. She remembered him from a night long ago. It was the night Draco was killed . . .

"Yes. We've – we've met. How are you?" she asked slowly.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Malfoy. And yourself?"

"Very well, thank you."

"I understand you and Mr. Malfoy are happy together and that congratulations are in order."

"Indeed," Ginny said, "That's why I'm here, to see about our license."

"I am sorry for the delay. Won't you come into my office?" Realizing she might not get the license at all if she didn't at least talk with him, she obliged.

The two of them stepped into the room. On the table was an unmarked package that was slightly smaller than a breadbox. Ginny took a seat and was introduced to the other wizard in the office, a man called Rothchild Petree. She gladly accepted Edmund's offer of a cup of tea.

"Strange," she said, stirring in the milk, "but it's all coming back to me now, that night. When we last met, you had a female partner, didn't you?"

"Very good, Mrs. Malfoy," Edmund answered, impressed that she recalled that detail. "I did have a woman working with me that night. But then, I always do, in cases of sexual assault. Rothchild and I find it easier for women to talk with one of their own after such an event."

"Bedelia, wasn't it? Does she only work on cases like . . . like what happened to me?"

"Actually," Rothchild joined in, "she's me. That is, I'm her. Edmund's right. Women are always more comfortable speaking with another woman, and so I do the initial inquiry and assist with the examination afterward. But we don't share that information with anyone but the victim, and only then if they ask."

The hair on the back of Ginny's neck stood up. "Why are you telling me now? And what does this have to do with my marriage license being put on hold?"

"Mrs. Malfoy, we have good reason – several good reasons – to believe the man you are about to marry may be the very one who attacked you."

She laughed once. Seeing their serious expressions looking back at her, she could only say, "You're joking, right?"

"No, ma'am," Edmund went on. "He knows things about that night, things that no one else would unless they were there."

Ginny could hardly believe what he was saying. "For instance?" she challenged him, still thinking he was making a colossal mistake.

"He also knew of Bedilia Armstrong, too," Petree said. "No one knows about her unless they are involved in an investigation of this sort. She's our trade secret, if you get my meaning. Or did you mention her to him?"

"I-I might have, I don't know." Determined to support her fiancé, to be on his side, she added, "Given his history, since that's all you know about him, I'm sure you won't believe it . . . but he has changed for the better! He is a wonderful man. He means the world to me, and I intend to defend him to the death!" she finished, breaking into sobs.

"Mrs. Malfoy, we don't mean to upset you. But in order to get the license approved, you must do one of two things for the Ministry."

"No, I won't do it! I don't have to – we can be married somewhere else. We don't need to have it sanctioned by the British Ministry of Magic!" Ginny sneered as she pushed her swivel chair away from the table and stood up.

Petree approached her. He put his hands on her shoulders and started to say something, but she threw him off. "I don't need to listen to this," she snarled as she made for the door.

Edmund rose to his feet and warned her, "Even if you don't want to press charges against him for the rape and the possible use of the Imperius curse . . . if you do not cooperate, you could be seen as his accomplice."

"What?" she shot back at him, the tears still wet on her face. "An accomplice on an attack on _myself?" _

"It's not the only crime he's suspected of."

Ginny was quite glad she was near a chair, as she fell right into it. "What are you saying? What crimes?" She meant to scream at them, but it came out in a disbelieving whisper.

"For some of these, we only have circumstantial evidence. Eyewitnesses can be hard to come by, especially when their memories can be modified and their point of view manipulated."

She looked between Rothchild and Edmund and back again then said, "Go on."

"He is on a short list of suspects for two, perhaps three, murders," Goodspeak informed the stunned young witch.

"What?" she said again. "How can you even . . . who? What murders?"

"Mrs. Malfoy, I don't know if you can be objec—"

Infuriated, she rose to her feet and shouted defiantly, "And just who do you think he may have killed?"

"Severus Snape, Walden Macnair – and Narcissa Malfoy."

"That is ridiculous! Lucius hadn't seen Severus in years, and he and Macnair were barely even acquaintances. And as for Narcissa, she died of natural causes!"

Petree looked at her coolly and said, "Natural causes that may have been exacerbated by a certain dark wizard who just happens to live in the same home as you."

Ginny sat down. She sighed and murmured, "That's preposterous."

"And why would you say that?"

"Because if that were true, I would be ill, and I'm not!" Goodspeak raised his eyebrows. "I know what it was, and I have been tested for. I got my _negative_ results earlier today," she added with certainty.

Edmund spoke again. "Be that as it may, if you want to clear him of all suspicion, and get your marriage license, we need your cooperation." She narrowed her eyes but said nothing. The Auror reached into a drawer and withdrew an empty bottle. "What is his favorite liquor?"

"Brandy," she revealed in a half-whisper then pursed her lips, frustrated at the predicament she found herself in.

"An excellent choice." Rothchild touched his wand to the lip of the bottle and filled it with liquid amber. Then he sealed it, adhered a shiny black and gold label, and secured the top with a metal lid and an embossed seal.

"This exquisite blend has been laced with Veritaserum. You have three days to give him a glass, get his confession, put it in this Pensieve, and bring it back here. We'll go in the Pensieve with you; if everything checks out, you'll get your marriage license."

Ginny looked away briefly, as if she were considering her other options. The only trouble was, she didn't see any. "And no more waiting?"

"No," Edmund assured her.

When she didn't answer, his partner asked her, "Do we have a deal, Mrs. Malfoy?"

She looked away and remained silent.

"I said, do we have a deal?"

Ginny met his eyes and glowered at him. She reached out for the bottle of brandy and the box that contained the Pensieve. She pulled them toward her, feeling more determined than ever to prove Lucius's innocence, once and for all.

End of Chapter

Notes: Thank you, Wikipedia and the website worldplants (dot) com for the information on the Sacred Datura. Please review!

Also, I'd planned to finish this story by now, and I appreciate everyone's continued patience with me. Chapter 19 has been beta-read and should be posted very soon. Chapter 20 is about halfway done, so hopefully, I can get it posted by the end of August.


	20. Chapter 19

Author's Notes: Thanks for sticking with me, and a big hug to persephone33 for beta reading. I appreciate everyone who has added this story to their favorites and new chapter alert list. :-)

In this chapter: The chapter in which much is said – far too much.

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 19**_

Dinner that evening at the Malfoy home was rather a tense affair, something that did not go unnoticed by the lord of the manor.

"Ginevra, my dear, you seem worried. Is anything the matter?" he asked, his voice calm and seemingly filled with genuine concern.

"No," she lied in response. She recanted quickly, saying, "It's just that, well, those bumblers in the Marriage License office have misplaced our application! I mean, goodness, we've already waited a month, haven't we?"

Lucius scoffed. He looked down at his plate and offhandedly pushed at the remains of his dinner with his fork. "At least a month. I take it from your tone you were sent on a wild goose chase?"

"Naturally. Why does the Ministry have to make everything so difficult?" Ginny grumbled, setting down her water glass with a bit more force than she intended.

"Careful, darling. Would you like me to drop by and speak with them tomorrow?" She shook her head, knowing it wouldn't matter if he did. "Fine, I'll let you deal with the bureaucrats, then. Maybe they don't know you're not a witch to be trifled with," he finished with a smirk.

Eyes and mouth agape, Rhiannon asked, "Did you really chase a goose, Mummy?"

Her mother smiled. "No. It's just a phrase, sweetheart."

"But what's in mean?"

"Meeean," Lucas vocalized, imitating his sister, whom he was observing with keen interest. When the children learned that there was no goose or chase, they seemed mildly disappointed.

After the desserts were consumed, Ginny called one of the house-elves. "Shilla, get the children their baths and ready them for bed. Then let them play with their toys, and I'll be up in a while to read their bedtime stories." The obliging house-elf bowed and did as she was told.

Soon Lucius and his fiancée were alone at the large table. She gazed at him with a faint, slightly sad smile upon her lips. Perplexed by her stare, he asked, "What is it?

She shivered slightly. Bracing herself, she stood up. "Nothing, dear," she assured him.

"Look, if it's the Ministry and the license, don't worry. We'll be married as soon as you like – in some other country, if need be."

Even though she herself had thought the very same thing, she couldn't imagine getting married anywhere but England. Still, she mused, "Perhaps."

Summoning her bravery, she asked, "Would you like me to get you some brandy?"

"Thank you, my love. After the day I've had, a brandy would be heavenly."

He watched her as she moved fluidly to where the liquor was kept, his eyes on her bum the whole time. He swallowed in anticipation. Sending the kids upstairs often meant that she was in a playful mood and just might end up dropping her knickers on the dining room floor and straddling him where he sat.

It certainly wouldn't have been the first time.

Ginny brought him his favorite snifter partially filled with the amber liquor he loved so much. "Ahh, thank you," he said as he took if from her. She sat next to him then latched onto his free hand and held it as if she would never let go. She looked upon him silently, studying his features down to the last line.

Swirling the contents of the snifter, he inhaled its rich scent and then took a drink. "You're quiet this evening. Other than fighting with buffoons at the Ministry, is everything else going all right?"

"Yes, it is." She paused to allow him time to enjoy his brandy. "As a matter of fact, I have some splendid news."

"Really?"

She squeezed his hand and announced, "We're having twins. A boy and a girl."

"That's wonderful, but how did you – that is, who told you?" He looked at her skeptically. "Not that five-knut fortune teller down on Diagon Alley? Or even worse, your crazy friend, Luna?"

Ginny smiled and rolled her eyes. "Hardly! Now, I know you don't approve of her methods, but I saw Dr. Winterbourne recently. You know, the Muggle whose cousin works at St. Mungo's?"

"Again?" Lucius asked, perplexed. "Why?"

"Oh, I ran into her, and she just wanted to check on my health. Since I was already there, she did a test to see if I was having a boy or a girl."

If he was annoyed, he didn't mention it. "You _are_ healthy, aren't you? No problems, I hope?"

"None whatsoever." She couldn't keep the smile from her face. "We're all in perfect health. I was so relieved to know they're going to be all right."

"Why wouldn't they be?" he asked then took another nip of his brandy.

"No reason, I guess. Still, every mother worries."

She took a deep breath and contemplated how she would actually go about getting the information that Goodspeak and Petree had requested. Evading the issue, she stood up once more and held out her hand. "Another brandy?"

"Are you drinking with me?" he asked, his voice sultry.

She rolled her eyes again. "You know I can't. It's bad for the babies."

"In that case, perhaps I should drink enough for both of us." She took the proffered snifter out of his hand and headed back toward the liquor cabinet. "Mmm, I love watching you walk," he drawled. "It reminds me how very lucky I am."

She stopped in mid-step, looked over her shoulder at him, and raised an eyebrow. A moment later, she returned with his snifter and sat down at his side.

Fighting down her nervousness at last, she began. "Darling, I need to talk with you. Now, don't think I don't trust you, because I do – but I just need to clear a few things up. It's very important, so please . . . hear me out."

He looked from her eyes to the contents of his glass. "Go ahead. Ask me anything."

"All right. Tell me about the last time you saw Severus Snape."

He looked at her dumbly. "Severus? That would have been the day I got out of Azkaban."

"Why did you go see him?"

"I needed a potion. One to ensure I would be able to, you know, perform in bed. Men _do_ sometimes need help." The instant the words were out of his mouth, he couldn't believe he'd said them – and to _her_, no less! Most men would sooner die than confess to their soon-to-be wife that they weren't always virile and ready to go at the drop of a hat.

But then, he knew his Ginevra was no ordinary woman. She made him feel so comfortable and loved, that talking to her came very easily for him.

"Did he make this potion for you?" she asked.

"Yes, he did."

"Did you two quarrel while you were there?"

"Yes," he replied, seeming a bit surprised that he was so forthcoming.

"Why?"

He swallowed. His heart started to race as his mind was flooded with the memories of that day, memories he hadn't thought about in months. "I needed another potion, but he said he wouldn't make it for me."

"He refused? Were you angry?"

"Of course, I was angry! The slimy git had fucked my wife!"

Ginny's eyes widened as she looked at him with concern; it was the first time he'd raised his voice with her since they'd been together. Still, her tone was level. "He told you he'd slept with Narcissa? He said those words?"

He lip curled in disgust. "No, but I _knew._ I knew it all the same, just as if he had told me every detail of her body; how she felt, how she smelled, the shape of her—"

She interrupted him, asking, "What did you do next? Did you confront him?"

"I killed him," he announced as casually as if he were predicting tomorrow's weather.

"How?"

"I stunned him, put him in a full body bind, and levitated him to a nearby well. Then I dumped him in, raised him back to the top, and dropped him again, over and over. When he went completely limp, I let his lifeless body fall to the bottom."

"So that's why we never heard from him again," Ginny said with a quiver in her voice.

Lucius averted his eyes. For the first time since Severus's death, he felt something akin to regret, or perhaps shame. Yet however painful this was for both of them, she went on. "What happened after that?"

"I went to another potion maker I knew, Walden Macnair."

"Was he more cooperative?"

"Yes, much," Lucius offered freely. "One thing about potion makers who live on the fringe: they can always be bought for a price."

"So he made your potion?"

"Yes."

"And you gave it to your wife, so she would become ill and eventually die?"

"No."

This surprised her. "No? Then what caused her health to decline so rapidly?"

"It was from some Muggle disease that's usually transmitted by sex, but not always. I can't remember what it's called offhand. It starts with an A."

Ginny gasped. She felt like fainting: had Hermione, Brian, Stella – everyone – been right all along? Was she about to make the biggest mistake of her life?

"If I understand how it works," she continued, "you could have been infected as well, and yet, you're not. Was magic somehow involved?"

"Actually, the disease was transmitted by a needle, like the ones your friend Stella uses in her work. But it was enhanced by magic."

"So you're saying you made your wife become ill and then intentionally made her worse?"

The realization that he had deliberately killed the beloved Narcissa, the woman Ginny had come to think of as Mother, was too much to bear. She bit back a sob as she tried unsuccessfully to keep her tears from spilling over her ginger lashes.

Seeing her cry, Lucius began to fidget. He wondered if there could have been Veritaserum in the brandy – but if there was, it was already too late. Soon he would be telling her all sorts of things, secrets she should never have heard. It would all depend on what she asked him.

But he didn't blame her; he knew that she would never betray him like that. He fell to one knee beside her, took her hand in his, and confessed his feelings openly.

"You must believe me, my love, that I regret these actions that now grieve you with all of my being, except that they brought me to you. We would never have been together if it weren't for . . . everything I did." As he said this, tears were streaming down his pale cheeks.

"I know," she said flatly, ignoring his pleas for clemency. "Did you ever sleep with Narcissa again?"

"A few times, but I used what Muggles call 'protection'," he explained as he resumed his seat.

She nodded knowingly then looked at him. "Then where were you going to have your, umm, needs met?"

"To Nicolette."

"That horrid servant?" she scoffed.

He nodded. "One could say that, but she has her uses. I always keep a batch of Polyjuice Potion hidden in my wardrobe. Stored properly, it can be kept for months."

"What?" Ginny asked absently.

"Polyjuice Potion. Haven't you ever noticed your brush missing now and then, or laying in places you knew you hadn't left it?"

Her mouth hung open as she realized the implication of this latest admission, and for the first time since she'd become his lover, she began to seriously question her own judgment.

"Oh, so you've been 'sleeping with me' for longer than I thought," she said, her tone a bit more cross.

His emotions suddenly rushed to the surface, begging to get out. He wept contritely as he tried to justify his thoughtless actions to the beautiful, lovely woman at his side.

"God, I hoped you'd never find out! It wasn't done to betray you – Narcissa was still alive, and you and I were little more than acquaintances. Still, having had you before, I . . . I wanted you so badly!" Avoiding her gaze, Lucius looked down at the table.

Ginny took a moment to let this soak in. She knew what he'd said was the absolute truth, the core of his feelings. He _couldn't_ have lied, not having taken the Veritaserum.

"This potion," she said intently, "the one that Snape wouldn't give you . . . was it for Harry Potter?"

The mere mention of his name caused Lucius to sit up straighter. "I never needed a potion to deal with Harry Potter. He was always very easy to manipulate."

"Did you see him that night?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In his hotel room. His Quidditch team was in Frankfurt for a game."

This perplexed Ginny. "But didn't you always hate Harry? Why would you go all that way just to see him?"

"Yes, I always despised that self-important twat. I only went there to rub it in and see the look on his face – and to let him know how grateful I was for his part."

This remark took Ginny by surprise, not to mention the effect it had on Lucius: he cringed almost the moment he said it. She shook her head and furrowed her brow. "His part?" she echoed. "Why? Had Harry help you kill Snape or obtain the virus you'd wanted?"

By now, he was visibly struggling to keep from saying the words that were on the verge of spilling out.

He let go her hand then swiped at his eyes. "Neither."

"I don't understand. Who was the potion for?"

"It was . . . for you."

"Me?" she laughed. "Why? What was it?"

He fought the urge to tell her, but the Veritaserum was already forcing the words out of him. "A Confundus locking potion," he revealed at last. Guilt-ridden, he looked away from her.

"But who had Confunded me, and why?"

Lucius tried to resist once more, but to no avail. "I did," he choked out as he hid his face in his hands, "to make you think it was Potter instead of me."

"_You?_" The tiny word spoke volumes.

His revelation both angered and frightened Ginny. For several seconds, she thought about walking out, of just taking the children and running, but she stayed put. She knew she had to finish what she'd started. This was no longer about getting the Aurors what they wanted; this was about getting the truth for herself – enough to make an informed decision about the man she had planned to marry.

Gazing at him, she said, "So it was you all along." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes, it was, but I-I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me, Ginevra," he begged her tearfully.

"And Harry wasn't there at all . . . he was in Germany the whole time."

"Yes."

"But Lucius, what could have possessed you to be so cruel? To ruin so many lives . . . how could you have _done_ that?"

He growled, "You couldn't possibly understand – you've never been to Azkaban!" Frustrated that he'd lost his temper with her, he blinked away a few more tears and swallowed hard.

"I felt like my power had been stripped away there, and I longed to get it back. Using you to crush my enemies – your family, your friends, even my son – made me feel avenged, whole again. But my ultimate goal was to impress the Dark Lord."

"What? I thought he was gone."

"Not completely."

Ginny stood up and started to pace. She had much to think about. With Lucius's startling confession, many of the beliefs she held about him – beliefs she had trusted emphatically and would have staked her life on – had simply evaporated like steam over a cauldron. The thought that the Dark Lord was still around and possibly held sway over her fiancé made her head swim and her stomach all woozy. She felt like she would throw up.

She also felt the one thing she hadn't in a very long time: helpless.

"If you felt compelled to do something like this, why did you pick me?"

"You were the obvious choice. You were a long-time friend of the Potters; you were married to my traitorous son, and you were the only daughter of the Weasley family. Through you, I could hurt them all in one fell swoop. It was payback for what I'd gone through in Azkaban."

"That's it?" she asked, stunned. "I was a victim of my circumstances, and you risked returning to prison, just for a few hours of pleasure? And then you pursued a relationship with me! How could you do that? Did you think I wouldn't find everything out one day?"

Ginny's heart wrenched. The dizziness was gone, but her head was starting to throb. She sat back down, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples.

"Didn't it matter than I was your son's wife?"

"No, it mattered a great deal."

"Yet you still chose me? Surely, you didn't intend for him to be killed like that!"

"As it happened, his being killed turned out to be a rather happy coincidence."

Dumbfounded by his cavalier attitude, she spat, "Happy? How can you _say_ that, Lucius? He was your only child!"

"Yes, he was. But he turned his back on me. And when the time came, everything just fell into place."

"What do you mean?"

"Draco had always been jealous of Potter, but I knew that Potter was a better dueler. If my son got angry enough to want to kill him, then the chances were good that one or both of them would end up dead – at the very least, Potter would be sent to Azkaban forever for his crimes against you." Sounding rather pleased with himself, he added, "Think of _that_ loss for The Order of the Phoenix, and all without bloodying my own hands. The Dark Lord was ready to welcome me back with open arms."

"So, are you his loyal servant?"

"No, and yes. I don't want to be anymore . . . but it can't be helped."

She nodded, trying to pretend she understood, then returned to her questioning. "When did you use the Confundus locking potion on me?"

"Later that night, when I visited St. Mungo's. I posed as a hospital worker."

Ginny's mouth dropped open. "The old woman, with the bright blue eyes? That was you?"

"Yes. I couldn't take a chance on the Aurors getting to the truth."

"Oh, Merlin . . . My family, my friends, they were all telling me the truth? It really wasn't Harry?" Her cheeks colored as she voiced the realization.

"No, it wasn't."

She gasped. "So Lucas – is he yours?"

"Without a doubt."

Trying to decide how best to use the remaining time the potion would be effective, she got to the heart of the matter. She looked at him intently and asked him, "Lucius, do you honestly love me and really want to spend your life with me, or has this all been just a sick, twisted game to you? That is, do you have any regrets or doubts about _us_?"

"Yes, I love you as I love life itself, and I do want to be your husband. I feel I would die if you left me. And I regret most of my actions, except those that have brought you to love me."

When she rose to her feet, he did likewise. "Show me how you contact the Dark Lord," she ordered.

Without saying a word, he turned around and walked toward his study. He unlocked the doors, swept them open wide, and strode to the desk. She followed close behind. Sitting down, he withdrew the key from its hiding place and silently unlocked the drawer, the one that was always locked. He picked up the velvety smooth bag with the glass orb that served as the portal to the dimension Lord Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew lived. He set it on the surface between them.

"What is that?" she asked, perplexed.

"An orb, charmed to be a portal. It was a gift from my late father."

"Can you show me what it does?"

"No, I can't. If I use it, the Dark Lord will expect me to enter. And as you can see, I'm in no condition to meet with him just now." He paused then asked her, "Just how much Veritaserum was in that brandy, Ginevra?"

"I-I don't know." Sitting down in one of his stately guest chairs, she bit her lip and started to cry once more. "The Aurors _made_ me do it, Lucius! You know I would never have done this on my own. They said I had to get you to confess, put my memories of it in a Pensieve, and if you were innocent, only then we could get our marriage license," she finished with a sob.

"I see. How very cruel of them." A solitary tear slipped down his cheek. She couldn't bear to watch him cry anymore. Instead, she stared down at the smooth round object on the desk. It was a rather pretty thing. She reached out and felt it cautiously.

At last, she said, "Lucius, I know this is a family heirloom, but what would happen if I just, er, threw it against the wall and smashed it, just so he can't touch you anymore?"

"It wouldn't work. He'd find another way, and then I'd be dead."

"Can I – may I give it to the Aurors?"

He looked at her seriously. "If keeping it will tear us apart, then I wish you would."

Lucius waited for her to say something; she remained silent. Finally, he posed one question to her, one he could scarcely dare to ask, but that he needed her to answer. "Do you still _want_ to marry me, Ginevra?"

"I don't know. I know your feelings are true, but you've hurt so many people I love . . . I just – have so many things to work out."

"But do you love me the way I love you?"

She laughed. "Why should I? Haven't you manipulated everyone and everything to go _your_ way, lied to people who were, and should still be, my friends? Killed people whom I cared about, some very deeply?"

"Yes."

"Yes? Is that all you have to say for yourself?" she asked in disbelief.

He took her hand and interlaced her fingers with his. "Darling, I know what I did was wrong. It was incredibly selfish of me, and I deeply regret that my actions hurt you. Now that I know your heart, how full of love you are, the way you look at me as if I was the only man in the world – I feel sickened that I took it in this way."

Ginny leaned across the desk and murmured, "Do you think you still deserve it?"

"I can't imagine that I do," he replied, his face clearly showing the pain he felt inside. "But that doesn't change the fact that I still need it."

She stood upright and backed away. Wiping at her tears, she informed him, "I'm going upstairs now. I told Shilla I'd sit with the children." He started to follow, but she raised her hand. "No, please don't come. I need to think; I have a lot to contemplate. I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast, or maybe at lunch."

"Should I stay home from work?"

"If you like. Oh, I almost forgot." Walking back to the ornate desk, she reached down and picked up the orb and its velvety bag. "I'll be taking this. Good night, Lucius," she said as coolly as if he were more an acquaintance than a cherished lover.

Once she was gone, he cried in earnest as he whispered, "Goodbye, my darling."

* * * * *

Ginny's dreams afforded her no peace, nor did they give her any answers to her dilemma. It was clear there was no simple solution: although she felt she still loved him, she couldn't explain why. He had no right to her love. He hadn't earned it – he'd stolen it by the most devilish means possible. She knew she ought to slash his throat as he slept.

But she also knew she could nothing of the sort. And what of the babies? He was so loving to her children – naturally, considering that one of them was his and the other was his grandchild – yet if she were to leave him, where would ever she find such warmth and affection again, especially now that she would have four little ones in a short while? They needed a father, and she needed him.

It wasn't that she didn't want to live alone; she didn't want to live without _him._ What Ginny wanted – desperately – was the man she'd fallen in love with. And yet, wasn't that the very man she saw tonight?

It was a question that haunted her restless dreams.

* * * * *

While Ginny had tossed and turned all night, Lucius had trouble getting any sleep at all. He was angry that she had agreed to the Aurors' demands of giving him Veritaserum and then interrogating him. He tried to understand why she had done it in the first place. But if they suspected him of half of what she'd asked him . . . surely he was only weeks, perhaps days, away from going back to Azkaban, never to see the light of day again.

Was she trying to protect him? Would she end up hating him?

Yes, the interrogation had been painful. But as the truth continued to come out, and he realized there was a slim chance that she might still love him, he felt oddly relieved.

Lucius stared at the fire in his room and mulled it all over: what he'd said, her reaction to it, and the consequences he would surely face tomorrow. There was a glimmer of hope. She _knew_ – she knew what he'd done, and yet, she hadn't cursed or hexed him. Was it possible that, despite all he'd done, she was still considering his offer of marriage?

Was he blessed by the gods beyond all others? He _had_ to be; it was the only explanation. It was a gift that, if given again, he would not take lightly.

Still, he knew that fate was a cruel mistress. He wondered if Ginevra and the children would be gone in the morning.

Finding sleep elusive, he got out of bed and sat in the chaise lounge across the room. He settled in with a rather dry book and started to read. When the morning light crept in through the slit in the drapes, he woke with a startle.

"Ginevra," he said reverently as he sat up straight.

"Good morning, Lucius. No, don't get up. I'm here to tell you I've made my decision."

~End of Chapter~

Notes: Please don't hate me for the horrible cliff-hanger. I am working on the next chapter and should have it ready by at least the end of October (but hopefully sooner).

Thanks for reading. Reviews are much appreciated!


	21. Chapter 20

Author's Notes: Thanks to persephone33 for beta reading this for me. :-)

In this chapter: A smidgen of smut. And some other stuff, too.

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 20**_

_Five hours earlier…_

Despite having gone to bed early, Ginny got very little rest. She slept fitfully, waking up time and again and at 3:00, she decided it was futile. She got up and began pacing nervously around her room. The decision she faced was huge; how could she possibly deal with all this information, and in just a few hours?

Then it hit her: with a Time-Turner, she could spend almost any amount of time elsewhere. Were it not for her condition, she could be gone for weeks, if she wanted to. But where would she go?

She couldn't imagine. She considered going to the hotel where she and Rhiannon had vacationed last summer, but she wanted to be close to home. Not to mention, it was fairly expensive, and she wasn't sure how often Lucius checked their balance at Gringott's. Hogwarts was another possibility, or even the Burrow. But she soon realized that every location had its own set of drawbacks, each one worse than the last.

Frustrated, Ginny slipped into her robe and left her bedroom. She crept through the silent hallways and headed toward the kitchen for some juice. She stood next to the counter and pondered as she drank.

_So if I did go back in time, how long should I go for – and other than hide away and think, what should I do?_

She hung her head as she thought of the potion she had given Lucius this evening and the horrible things that spewed unwillingly from his lips. It reminded her of something she had learned all those years ago in Snape's potions class: _It only works on the unsuspecting._ She set down her empty glass.

_Should I attempt to warn Lucius about the Veritaserum, or should I just not go get it all? After all, it was __**my**__ idea to go check on the marriage license . . ._

Ginny struggled internally, weighing the various outcomes. Although it was certainly tempting, she couldn't just forget or wish away what she'd already heard him say. She had to be reasonable. If she meddled with time in that way, and if anything from his confession that she hadn't known before should come up in the future, how would she tell him why she knew about it?

_I'm pretty good at lying, but I don't know if I could be that good._

Back to square one, she poured herself a second glass of juice. She changed this one to apple; she was never all that fond of pumpkin juice, but it was all they had at the moment.

_I could go to the Room of Requirement. That would give me a few extra days to contemplate, plan . . . work this whole thing out._

It was the best idea she'd had so far.

Once she had charmed her glass clean, she noiselessly whisked everything back where it belonged. Ginny knew it would have to appear as though she had never left her room or even gotten out of bed. She went straight to where the Time-Turner lay: Lucius's study.

She approached the door quietly, just in case one of the house-elves was awake and close enough to hear. They were her servants too, of course, but they were old-fashioned; when it came down to it, their loyalty was to the master and not to her. Secrecy was paramount.

"_Alohamora,"_ Ginny whispered. The lock clicked. She glanced around both ways then stepped inside. The room was quite dark, and except for the ticking of the clock on his desk, silent.

"_Lumos." _

She had once seen Lucius put the Time-Turner away in the drawer of an end table that stood to the left of the sofa. The drawer wasn't locked. She relaxed a little then tugged, opening it as far as it would go.

The drawer was narrow, but apparently much deeper than it looked. She held her wand over it to peer inside, but that didn't help much. Cautiously, she reached inside and felt around for the Time-Turner. She started to wonder if maybe he had moved it some other spot. But having no idea where else to look – and not feeling entirely safe in doing so – she renewed her search, determined to find it.

At last, she felt its light chain. It had been tossed into the back and was now buried underneath a few loose slips of parchment. Holding her breath, she pulled it toward her and took it out. She glanced around once more to be sure no one was watching her and then stashed it in her robe pocket. As a final precaution, she transfigured a paperclip from Lucius's desk into something that looked like a Time-Turner, just in case he came looking for it.

Before she left the study, she lamented that she didn't know where he kept his Invisibility Cloak. _That could make this so much easier_, she told herself. However, deciding there would be even more to explain if it were missing, she turned and left without it, locking the door behind her as she went.

Ginny went back to her bedroom to prepare. The biggest question now was how far she should go back. Life outside the Room of Requirement would go on as normal, so she knew she needn't worry about her family. But she also knew she couldn't be gone for very long. What if Lucius wanted to use the Time-Turner himself? If he found the copy she'd made, what would happen when he put it on and realized it didn't work?

After debating internally for a few minutes, she decided she could do this in two days. She would be undisturbed by daily life. Besides, she had already been thinking and rethinking this decision since that fateful day in Neville's office, when her old friends had accused her lover of the unthinkable, which now proved to be true. She winced at the harsh memories.

She gathered a few items and _Reducto'd_ them so they would fit into a small pack. Feeling she had all the necessities, she placed the Time-Turner around her neck and carefully counted the spins.

Time travel was definitely an odd business; for instance, she didn't know that it had rained two nights ago. The windows in her room, which had been dry just moments ago, were now spotted with drops. The water streamed down in thin streaks.

She turned toward her door and listened to be sure that no one had been wandering the halls at 2 a.m. that night. Assured that she was the only one awake, Ginny emerged then slinked cautiously to the upper-most level of the house.

She stood out in the hallway. She stared intently at the spot where she had seen the door to the invisible room appear once before, envisioning everything she would require for the next 48 hours, including a loo, a fireplace, and a jar of Floo powder. When the door appeared at last, she hurried inside and closed it softly behind her.

She frowned. Now that she was here, she wasn't sure exactly how to begin. She started by walking about the spacious room. It was almost as luxurious as it had been the last time she was here: the day she and Lucius had moved beyond friends and to something more meaningful than either one of them had expected. The mere memory of it caused something to stir deep inside her. How she longed for his touch, his kiss, to be delirious in his arms.

Once her mind had turned to her lover, Ginny couldn't avoid facing her feelings, and her doubts, head-on. She had to see everything as objectively as possible. It wouldn't be easy. She flinched as she recalled everything he had shown her: his selfishness, manipulation, prejudice, the murders, his hatred . . . and then, when she least expected it, his love. The admiration he felt for her was palpable. It was certainly genuine; of that, there was no doubt.

As thoughts of his confession turned over in her mind, she bemoaned why things had to be this way. Why was the truth so painful? Part of her longed to know the truth he was destined to tell, while another part wanted to return to the ignorant bliss she had been living in. But that wouldn't solve anything.

"It's too bad I don't believe in Divination," she said to no one. "I'm sure Professor Trelawney would love to have an adoring disciple knock on her door right now, begging her to read their tea leaves and unfog the future."

She laughed at the idea.

"I mean, it's such a discretionary art," she snorted, as if the idea were preposterous. But after a brief pause, she added, "And yet, Luna seems to be able to foresee things, now and then."

Ginny went over some of the things her old friend had known that no one else could have guessed. "She predicted that Harry and I would break up, and that I would end up marrying someone he hated – even that my first child would be a girl."

She had dismissed it all at the time. But now she wondered: was there really something to it?

"Yet if Luna and Neville are so keen on having children, why isn't she pregnant yet? Is it just so she can have her child on the spring equinox of next year, like she said?"

Frustrated, she rubbed her tired eyes and groaned. "I can't believe I'm even _thinking_ this. But still . . . could she help me?"

She mulled over the idea as she plopped down on the sofa, sighing heavily. She shook her head. "I must be exhausted. I'm talking crazy." Sleep soon overtook her.

She woke some hours later. Based on how hungry she felt, she judged it to be about midday. One glance at the gold-plated anniversary clock said she was right. Ginny opened her pack, took out a paring knife and a green apple and proceeded to cut it into slices. As she ate, she thought once more about Lucius's actions and the choices he had made. It made her heart sink.

_I have to speak with Luna_.

She finished her fruit and washed up then walked toward the fireplace. Tossing a handful of Floo powder in, she called her friend's name. The blonde-haired witch's face appeared soon afterward.

"Why, Ginny. This is a pleasant surprise." Her smile was relaxed.

"Hello, Luna. I'd like to come see you, if you have the time. I need some advice."

"Of course, dear. I was just on my way back to Hogwarts. I'd come home so I could have lunch with Neville. Do you want to join me here or just meet me at the school?"

"That depends," she said skeptically. "How do you travel?"

"By Portkey." When Ginny made a face of mild disgust, Luna replied with a grin, "I love the goofy feeling I get when I'm spinning like a top."

Frankly, Ginny couldn't imagine anyone actually _enjoying_ Portkey travel, except maybe Luna. She scrunched up her nose. "You know, I think I'll just Apparate to the front gates. Can you meet me there?"

"Sure," she agreed cheerily.

"Great, give me ten minutes."

Luna, who was already throwing her cloak around her shoulders, said in mild surprise, "Ten minutes? Why so long?"

"It's, uh, complicated. So you'll wait for me by the gate?" Ginny asked hesitantly. But Luna nodded eagerly that she would then waved goodbye.

The young mother, meanwhile, quickly tried to recall where she would have been at this time two days earlier. Now she really wished she had the Invisibility Cloak. There was nothing more she could do except head for the front door without stopping to speak to anyone and keep her fingers crossed.

By some miracle, she made it past that hurdle unscathed and now stood outside in the misty afternoon air. She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out far enough away from the house to Apparate. She was soon standing outside the boundaries of Hogwarts. Luna was already waiting inside and swung the gate open to allow her entrance.

"Hello, Ginny," she greeted her as she clanged the gate shut once more. She hugged the young mother enthusiastically. "It's so good to see you! You're looking well."

"Thanks. I feel well."

As the two of them started toward the castle, Luna took her hand and said, "Now, what do you need advice on?"

Ginny hesitated. All of a sudden, this seemed like a very bad, very stupid idea.

Even so, she had to try.

At last, she blurted out, "How do you know the things you know, Luna? I mean the things you've predicted that actually, you know, happened?"

"Like what?"

"Like my having a daughter with someone that Harry had always despised? The exact date you will have your first child . . . How do you know things like that?"

"Oh, is that all? I usually ask the Centaurs."

"The Centaurs?"

"Yes. They trust me, so they tell me things," she replied as they continued walking across the dry grass.

Ginny frowned in response. "But I thought the Centaurs didn't like _any_ humans," she half-whispered, somewhat fearful one of them might be close enough to hear their conversation. She wasn't sure how acute their hearing was.

"Not everyone. Only most people." Luna added with a shrug, "I've been to the forest often enough, they know me as a friend."

The young mother looked at her doubtfully. "When did this start?"

"Shortly after I came to Hogwarts. One day, I followed a baby Thestral in. The Centaurs saw me treating it gently, petting it, and one of them became curious about me. We became friends before the Christmas holidays."

"And you just . . . ask them things?" It sounded too easy.

"Mm-hmm," Luna murmured with that serene smile that had so often baffled and calmed Ginny at the same time. "What do you want me to ask them for you?" she said intuitively.

She only hesitated for a second or two. "As you can probably guess, I'm concerned about my impending marriage. Will we be happy? Should I, you know . . . go through with it?" came her desperate plea.

The witch at her side turned to her slowly and gazed at her.

"What do you think, Ginny? You're pregnant, and from what I hear, it's twins. Would it really be fair to deny them their father? I think you could be just what Lucius needs. Now, I know that Neville and Hermione – especially Hermione – would disagree with me, but from the few times I've seen him with you . . . it's clear that you mean the world to him."

Stunned, her freckled face fell a bit. It wasn't what she'd expected Luna to say. Still, it made her feel peaceful. Reassured. "What do you think the Centaurs would say?"

"I've already asked them. Their visions aren't always easy to interpret, but they're certainly better than any human Diviner. They said you two would live a long and happy life together. But he has to eliminate You-Know-Who first."

She swallowed with relief as tears started to form in the corner of her brown eyes. "Oh, Luna, I'm so lucky to have a friend like you. I can't thank you enough."

Luna warned her, "There will be rough spots, of course, as in any marriage. But you must have the strength and courage to work through them, and you have no shortage of that." The two friends exchanged a smile.

After a leisurely walk around the castle that included a stop-off at the kitchens for a late lunch, Ginny returned to the manor via Floo and landed in the Room of Requirement. She felt more at ease, now that she knew there _was_ hope for her and Lucius's relationship. And why not? She loved him, and he was more in love with her than she had originally thought. True, he had done some despicable things in the past. But that was not the man she loved; this was a new man, a changed man. She believed it in her soul.

"He doesn't need all that now because he's satisfied with his life. With me, he's found peace and acceptance. At last, he's satisfied with his life." She pondered these words as she took one more scrutinizing look at the crimes levied against him.

So he wasn't exactly innocent.

She hesitated, as if she were actually speaking to someone. "I, I know he could never justify his actions, no more than I can explain why I still love him . . . but I believe in my heart that he is a better man for having loved me," she said as she stared into the fireplace. "And I know my life is better for having loved him."

Still, she worried. What of the Aurors? His confession was pretty solid and extremely damning. She fretted as she thought of him languishing in Azkaban for years, never seeing her or their children . . . Frankly, she wondered if he would ever see the light of day again.

The very thought of it crushed her heart. She lay down on the sofa once more to rest.

On awakening early the next morning, Ginny thought back on what she had done on this particular day. She had gone to the Ministry to check on the marriage license and ended up making a deal with the devil.

What she had meant to do was _save_ Lucius – only it didn't end up that way.

She spent the day thinking, reading, and most of all, resting so that she would be awake at 2 a.m. By nightfall, she was fully alert and planning how and when she would return to her bedroom, and exactly what she would do the next morning.

* * *

Lucius barely dared to ask for her decision. "And?"

"I'm staying. I will marry you – but there is the problem of your confession."

He was baffled. "I don't understand. You're staying, even though the truth bothers you?" he said, trying to guess her meaning.

She smiled. "I know, it's crazy, but I just can't imagine our lives without you. The children are so attached to you, and of course, I am too. I don't know how well we'd fare in another situation. I just – don't want to stop loving you. True, you deceived me, but still . . . what you are now is _not_ what you were then. I may be the world's biggest idiot, but I do love you. I even, dare I say it, trust you. So yes, I will marry you."

Thinking this sounded too good to be true, he furrowed his pale brow.

"But, didn't you put your memories of last night into the Pensieve? I thought that was required."

"It is, but I haven't done it yet." She walked over to the wardrobe and smiled back at him. "And I'm not going to."

He shook his head and said adamantly, "You know it's not safe to do a Memory Charm on you because of the pregnancy. Do you want me to modify your memories once you've deposited them?"

She didn't answer him right away. Instead, she opened the wardrobe and surveyed its contents. "Where do you keep the Polyjuice Potion?"

Lucius jumped off the chaise lounge and rushed to her side. "It's in here," he answered, reaching behind the rows of stylish robes, shirts, and trousers. A frosted glass case that contained a small black cauldron with a thick, chalk-like substance set on the shelf next to his shoes. He lurched forward to pick it up, but she put a smooth, cool hand on his bare arm as if to say 'wait'. When she did, he shivered involuntarily and pulled back.

"Not now," she said. "Wait till tonight. For now, floo your office and tell them you're not feeling well. That will give us all day to plan it all out."

"Plan what out, my dear?"

She backed out of the wardrobe and looked at him conspiratorially. "We'll enlist Nicolette's help in acting out a most convincing confession. All we need is one hair from my head. Then when we're done with our performance—"

"We put _her_ memories in the Pensieve."

"And then, we _Oblivate_ Nicolette."

A smile of understanding spread slowly across his face. "Simple, yet brilliant."

"Exactly," Ginny said with a nod.

He gazed at her. "Is it any wonder I love you?"

She nodded. "It's perfect. It can't fail."

All he could think was, _We can't afford it to._

* * *

"Hermione, you're spoiling me," Ron groaned after having eaten the last bite of sticky toffee pudding. Of course, if she hadn't continued to bring the spoon up to his mouth, he would have stopped three bites earlier.

Lily giggled behind her hands. "You don't look so good, Won."

"Yeah, is my mum's cooking _that_ bad?" Jamie snickered.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at her daughters. "That'll be enough from you two brats," she teased as she threw her napkin at the older girl. "As punishment, you have to help clear the table."

Her daughters started to groan in protest, but when she glared at them, they got to their feet. Each of them picked up one dish and delivered it to the kitchen sink.

"Aww, Mummy, can't you just use your magic?" Lily whined. Then her sister took over.

"Yeah, I don't know why all witches and wizards don't just wave their wands, and poof! Dinner is ready, or poof! It's all put away!" she said, waving her arm as if demonstrating.

Their mother rebutted, "While that may _sound_ great, it's better to do some things the Muggle way. Unless you're a house-elf, food is much tastier if it's cooked slowly. Even Ron's mother makes most of their meals by hand; she only uses her magic for mundane chores, like peeling potatoes, stirring things on the stovetop, and frosting a cake."

Jamie grumbled, "Yeah, but why do we have to clean up? Can't you just 'magic' it all away?"

Hermione would not relent. "You know that doing chores builds character. Now go get some more of those dishes." Their narrow shoulders slumped forward a little as they reluctantly complied.

Knowing first-hand that what Hermione had said about cooking was true, Ron volunteered, "Yeah, I've tried making a few dinners for myself completely by magic. The results were so bad; I ended up going out for takeaway. And the _smell!_ I could barely sit in my own kitchen for three days."

His girlfriend walked past him and carefully set a platter down on the counter. "Well, since you've never fully mastered charms in the first place, Ron . . . I suppose it was rather like watching Neville in Potions class."

The two sisters exchanged a look and laughed among themselves. Their mum's boyfriend rolled his eyes and scoffed. He stood up, wadded his napkin into a ball, and threw it onto the nearly empty table in feigned disgust.

"Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life, day in, day out? I'm telling you, ever since I _met_ your mother, she's nagged me like I was a lazy, stupid child." If it weren't for the slight smile on his face, the young Potters might have thought he was really aggravated. Instead, he took Hermione in his arms and said, "And I wouldn't want her any other way."

"Oooh," Jamie practically sang as she put the last of the utensils in the sink, "let's leave the lovebirds alone, Lily."

They both giggled again then ran away and up the stairs. Normally, their mother would not have let them leave without putting away at least a few more things . . . but having Ron's lips on hers as he pressed her lower back against the edge of the sink definitely muddled her thinking.

"You taste like toffee," she sighed.

"You taste wonderful," he moaned. He kissed her again then lifted her bum up to the sink top, put his hands on her knees, and inched his way between her legs. When he reached underneath her loose skirt for her knickers, she quickly pushed his hand away.

"Wait," she hissed, "what if the girls come right back?"

He'd already thought of that, and it didn't exactly deter him. He kissed her softly in between words, saying, "Tell them we're going to wash the dishes by hand, and if you see them anytime in the next hour, you'll put them to work."

A smile spread slowly across Hermione's face.

"Girls!" she called out, trying not to shiver as Ron's tongue slid up her neck and behind her left ear. Once her daughters acknowledged that they'd heard her, she shouted, "We're going to wash all of these dishes by hand, like Grandma does. Do you want to come down and help?"

The response was more laughter and their bedroom door banging shut.

"Now, where were we?" she said with a grin so naughty that Ron would have sworn this was _her_ idea.

Sliding his hand under her skirt once more, he resumed the pursuit of her knickers, only to learn she wasn't wearing any. He licked his lips appreciatively. "You planned this all along, didn't you, you saucy wench?"

"Maybe," she said coyly as she reached for the front of his trousers, unzipped them, and released his erection. His breath hitched when her warm, soft fingers wrapped around his cock, guiding it into her. It was all he could do to hold back for just a bit to allow her muscles to relax around him. When she nodded greedily to indicate she was ready, neither of them wasted any time.

Their lovemaking was quick but sweet. He fingered her under her skirt and continued as he reached his climax. Her eyes fluttered shut and she gasped once as she peaked, drenching his fingers with her warm, slick liquid. As they both struggled to catch their breath, he kissed her deeply.

"Oh, Hermione, I love you so much," he confessed, his breathing ragged. "You know I can't live without you. I'm begging you: Please, please say you'll marry me."

Her reply came in between breaths. "Of course I will, Ron. I've wanted you for a while now – but you were just too stupid to ask. I love you; I always have." She kissed him back, hopped down off the counter, and looked at him seriously. "But you must promise me one thing."

"Anything, just name it," he swore as he continued lavishing her face with kisses.

"Promise me you'll never ask . . . that you'll never ask me to compare you to Harry. Harry was Harry, and no one could ever be him. I'll always love him, but you – you're just as special, but in a different way." She looked at him seriously. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Ron?"

"If it makes you happy, then all right. I won't do it."

"You _do_ promise, don't you?"

"Yes. I swear, I won't ask."

She smiled at him warmly. "Okay. Then let's get married, as soon as possible. Will you have time before practice tomorrow to go with me to get the license?"

His kisses were answer enough for her.

* * *

The next morning, Ginny approached the receptionist and said politely, "Mr. Goodspeak, please."

"And your name is?"

"Ginevra Malfoy."

"Have a seat. I'll tell him you're here."

Ginny nodded then sat down in the reception area and carefully set the precious cargo on her lap. Inside the box was the Pensieve that contained Lucius's second confession, the one Nicolette had so willingly helped them obtain.

Of course, the French servant remembered none of it. She only knew that the master she thought so highly of had needed her help. He had always treated her well, so she was quite happy to assist.

As Ginny waited, she hoped she would be able to act out her part convincingly. Just because she had the memories didn't mean she herself wouldn't be scrutinized by the Aurors. She tried to prepare herself for what they might ask and wished desperately she could have been privy to their notes. Then she recalled what she'd told Harry in the Hogwarts library, all those years ago:

_One thing about growing up with Fred and George: you get the feeling that anything's possible, as long as you've got the nerve._

She had clung to those words in many a difficult time, and today would be no exception. And this time, she had a secret weapon – a bonus they were never expecting that would surely weigh in her fiancé's favor.

The receptionist interrupted her thoughts, announcing, "Edmund will see you now, Mrs. Malfoy."

She nodded to the middle-aged woman and stepped into the conference room. It wasn't the same one where she had been given the Pensieve. Still, she put on a confident face and chose a place at the table.

"Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy," Rothchild Petree greeted her as he entered the mahogany-paneled room. "Do you have some memories to share with us?"

"Yes, I do." She opened the box and took out the Pensieve. Setting it on the table, she watched the silvery liquid inside swirl around.

Just then, Edmund joined them in the conference room. "Hello, Ginny. Well, our day is pretty full, so is everyone ready?" he asked. The others agreed, and the three of them entered the Pensieve.

The Aurors watched the memories along with the bride. They witnessed her serving Lucius the brandy and soon learned that he and Snape had parted ways after he got the Everlast potion. He had no idea what had happened to his old friend and was shocked to learn how he had died. When asked about Macnair and Bellatrix, Lucius said had not been to see Walden in ages and that he had not seen or heard from his sister-in-law in years – he assumed she was imprisoned somewhere on the continent.

Next, Ginny pressed him for details about Narcissa's death. He said he had nothing to do with it. When she explained the cause, he deduced that his wife and Snape had indeed been lovers; the Potion Master must have been infected and was probably not aware that he was putting her at risk. The very thought of it made Lucius break down in tears.

When it was all over, the three intruders left the Pensieve and returned to the conference room. Both Aurors stood above the basin, looking in. Petree said, "That's all a very pretty story, Mrs. Malfoy. But is it true?"

"You saw it as well as I did. He took the Veritaserum; how could it not be?"

"How, indeed?" the younger Auror asked, only half-hiding his sneer.

Edmund took over, saying, "Be that as it may, we need to test these memories for tampering. It's standard procedure, especially when dealing with a wizard so familiar with the Dark Arts."

Ginny shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Do you have anything else to add, Mrs. Malfoy?" Goodspeak asked. "Any observations about his behavior that seemed odd, or anything at all?"

"No, nothing. He's behaved as he always does: like a perfect gentleman."

Edmund exchanged a look with Rothchild then said, "Mrs. Malfoy, would you excuse us for a moment, please?"

"Of course."

The Aurors left the room and pushed the door almost all the way to but not quite. Wishing she had thought to bring a pair of Extendable Ears, she could just make out bits of their conversation beyond the door. Snippets like 'dangerous', 'questionable', and 'her father' reached her. This caused her to frown. She couldn't imagine what her dad had anything to do with this. After all, his areas of expertise were Muggles and illegally charmed artifacts.

The conversation taking place in the hallway faded away. She felt herself getting nervous all over again but fought it down.

_It'll be fine,_ she assured herself, _they bought it._

The men returned several minutes later. She could almost see the grin on Petree's face; he was like a kid in a candy store who had just gotten his pocket money. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. You're free to go."

It was almost too easy.

She got to her feet and started to gather up her things. When the big question came, she tried to act nonchalant: "I did what you asked. Now can we get our marriage license?"

Edmund looked at her seriously. "Give us a few days to validate that these memories have not been modified. We'll be in touch. And again, thank you. Your cooperation is most appreciated."

She nodded once then left their office. Although she didn't have the license yet, nor was Lucius' freedom absolutely guaranteed, her heart already felt much lighter. Ginny soon found herself humming that stupid Celestina Warbeck tune her mother loved so much, the one she herself couldn't stand. The wizarding wireless had played it that morning, and now she couldn't get it out of her head.

She scoffed to herself, thinking, _That's always the way: hear a song you abhor, and you'll find yourself singing it in your head all day long._

As she rounded the last corner before passing by the marriage license office, her eyes popped open in surprise. Seated in the waiting area with clipboards on their laps and quills in hand were Ron and Hermione, talking back and forth and giggling nervously. She slipped back behind a wall and then made a dash for the loo.

She quickly chose a stall and cast a Silencing Charm so no one would hear her as she thought aloud. "What am I going to do?" she asked the walls pathetically, feeling terribly guilty. "All those times I snubbed my own family, and my dear friend Hermione, for her refusing to believe that Harry had been the man who attacked me . . . oh, Harry, I'm sorry!" She felt like crying but fought desperately to hold back.

Her guilt was exacerbated by the fact that Hermione had been right about everything: not only had _her_ husband been innocent, the man she suspected was about to become Ginny's new spouse! "I'm such a hypocrite," she moaned to herself. Her mind racing, she buried her face in her hands. "What am I going to _do?"_ she repeated.

Maybe she had celebrated a little too early.

True, she had gotten the confession that would hopefully clear Lucius and had passed it to the Aurors. They even seemed to accept it. Only a simple verification test remained; this should be no problem, as the memories were genuine.

However, that was less than half the battle. There was still the matter destroying You-Know-Who, and Merlin only knew how _that_ was going to be done. Ginny was also rather anxious to repair her relationships with her family and friends. She had to win them back; she couldn't remain estranged from them for the rest of her life.

After reviewing several options, she narrowed them down to just a few. It would be a challenge to convince them that she wasn't absolutely barking mad for choosing to marry Lucius Malfoy; she could almost hear _"Imperius!"_ issuing from Ron's angry mouth. Yet she had no doubt that, without using any form of magic, any reservations they had would soon be forgotten.

End of Chapter

Notes: Yep, another cliffie. Go ahead and push me off, if you want to . . . but then you'll never know how it ends. ;-)

Also, I am planning to take all of November off from fic writing as I pursue my first **NaNoWriMo** (National Novel Writing Month). Getting 50,000 words down in one month should prove an interesting challenge for me. Here goes nothing-!


	22. Chapter 21

Author's Notes: A million thanks for taking the time to read this. Thank you to my super beta reader, persephone33, for her advice and support. :-)

In this chapter: Some get something they have wanted for a very long time, while another loses something that was not easy to get.

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 21**_

"Hello, Ron. Hermione," Ginny said as she walked up to where they were seated, clipboard in hand. Hermione looked up at her in mild shock and quickly shuffled her marriage license the forms to one side, nearly spilling her ink bottle in her urgency to do so.

"Ginny – what a surprise!"

"I'll say it is," she replied with a wink. Glancing at the sign overhead, she smiled and said, "Congratulations. I knew you two would come to your senses one day."

Hermione was stunned that her soon to be sister-in-law was treating her so civilly. The last few times they had met, things between them were not always pleasant, so naturally, she was rather suspicious.

Still, she had to admit, Ginny did seem genuinely happy to see her.

The younger witch stepped a bit closer to her, looked her directly in the eye, and placed her hands on her shoulders. "Welcome to the family." She leaned down and hugged her tightly, Ginny's face in between her brother and his fiancée. "I am so, so sorry, Hermione, for everything," she whispered just loud enough that Ron could hear as well. She reached over and touched his shoulder then started to sob softly.

After holding her friend for a minute or so, she let go and backed away slowly. She stared into her eyes and said, "Can you ever forgive my stupidity? I know that Harry would never have hurt me."

Slightly dazed, Hermione looked up at her, her lips gradually spreading into a serene smile. But Ron was not about to forgive his sister's mistakes, nor the slander she had caused his best friends, quite so easily. One could say it was all _her_ fault that Harry was dead. He ground his teeth and looked the other way.

"Oh, Ron," Ginny begged as she fell to her knees before him, "please say you accept my apology. I – I want to go home and see Mum and Dad. I need to know you're with me. It would mean the world to me!"

He had opened his mouth to say something, and judging from his expression, it was probably something hurtful. Then he folded his arms across his chest and clamped his lips shut.

His beloved was clearly put out by this childish behavior. "Honestly, she's your sister, Ron; can't you see that she's sorry?" she snapped as her tears started to flow, too.

Not caring who heard him, he scoffed loudly and rolled his eyes. "He's brainwashed her, that's what he's done! Or used the Imperius curse." He shook his head defiantly. "You're sorry, eh? That's a good one! I don't believe any of your lies, Mrs_._ _Malfoy!_" he shouted, sneering her name. He stood up, threw down his quill, clipboard, and forms, and stormed off down the hallway.

He wasn't five steps away when Hermione got to her feet and extended her wand. The moment she called out, _"Immobulus!"_, Ron stopped dead in his tracks. She went over to him and helped him back over to the violet couch. He landed on his bum with a soft thud.

She uttered the counter curse. Now that he was fully alert, she laid into him, hissing, "Ron Weasley, I am surprised at you! Some days, I'd swear you're still 14 years old. Ginny is obviously making a show of good faith and trying to make peace with her family. Now come on, at least hear what she has to say!"

"Thank you, Hermione," Ginny said then sat down in the poufy armchair closest to where the couple was seated. "As I said, I know now that I made a mistake – a terrible and very costly one – but I am willing to pay for it, as best I can." When the older witch started to interrupt her, Ginny shushed her by raising her hand and closing her eyes. "Just listen, please. You two and Mum and Dad are all invited to a dinner at Malfoy Manor this coming Sunday evening. Will you please come?"

Hermione furrowed her brow in thought for a moment. "What about Lucius? Are you two . . . still engaged?"

"Yes, we are. We'll be married soon," Ginny answered with a smile.

Ron closed his eyes and hung his head, as if this was too much for him to deal with just now. His sister leaned toward him and assured him that everything would be fine. "I know you can't possibly understand or accept him like I have. But believe me, he _is_ a good man. Even if you never like him, I have it on good authority that we will have a happy marriage."

Her last comment caught Hermione's attention.

"On good authority? What does that mean?"

"I can't explain it," Ginny replied, shaking her head. "Just trust me on this, and please say you'll come to our house for dinner next Sunday. I'll owl you with the details." And as if that settled the matter completely, she stood up and left them sitting there with their mouths hanging open.

"Well, that was . . . interesting," the bride commented.

A soft chuckle slipped out of Ron's lips. "Yeah. But I'm not going to any home of _Malfoy's_," he said derisively.

Placing a hand on his arm, she said, "Look, Ron. I don't really want to go there either, but we have to." His face grew more incredulous as she went on. "I've been there before, and what I felt there, I . . . I can't describe. It was a deep hatred, as if the spirit of every Death Eater who had ever been to Malfoy Manor was still there. It was very unsettling."

"And you want to go back there, _why?_" he asked sarcastically.

"I want to watch those two interact and see if I can, you know, put to rest whatever it was that bothered me when I was there for Luna's Hen Party."

Ron rolled his eyes, shook his head, and scoffed, "You're off your nut, you know that? But I love you anyway." He smiled then kissed her.

She gently touched his cheek and told him, "I love you, too, darling."

As soon as the moment had passed, she carefully re-inked her quill and brought it back to the parchment that was fastened to her clipboard. "We really need to finish these forms and get them turned in. Remember, I need to go by my parents' house and pick up the girls so Mum can be back at the office in time for her 2:00 appointment."

He retrieved his own quill and paperwork then proceeded to write in the rest of the information it required: date of birth, parents' and grandparents' names, and so on. As he did, he muttered, "Nag, nag, nag. That's why I love you."

Now it was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes.

* * * * *

"You're really something, you know that, Ginevra?" Lucius said as he walked up to her, an expression of admiration on his face. He leaned down and kissed her softly. He suddenly felt rather sorry that none of their dinner guests could see them. He so longed to watch her parents' faces go pale from the shock of it.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" she asked. "Because we still have time to _un_-do what I've done, if you prefer. After all, they're your servants."

He shook his head and sighed. "Not anymore, apparently." He took her small, soft hand in his and added, "But no matter, my dear; truly, I don't mind. If giving your mother – and Mrs. Potter – each their own house-elf will keep peace between our families, then it's a small sacrifice."

"Yes, if she even _takes_ her," she added, doubting whether Hermione would accept their gift. Lucius scoffed gently.

"Of course, she will. What woman wouldn't want a devoted servant to help around the house? She'll come around." He paused briefly then said, "Anyway, I saw how happy it made Molly, and you. And if a man's wife is happy, then he is happy."

She smiled up at him and shrugged. "I just want my family and Hermione to see what a wonderful and generous man you are." She kissed him tenderly on the mouth, and he responded eagerly.

Moments before things got out of hand, she reluctantly pulled back. He could see the regret in her eyes and smirked so that her heart nearly melted. "We _will_ continue this later, Lucius," she promised him, "so don't drink too much brandy."

They left his study and rejoined their guests. Molly was becoming fast friends with her new house-elf. His name was Cheroo. He was telling her how much he would miss her daughter, the benevolent Mrs. Malfoy. "Mistress was always very kind to all the house-elves," he told her sincerely.

Hermione sauntered over to where Cheroo was standing. He looked up at her expectantly. She squatted down in front of him and looked into his overlarge eyes. "And was Mr. Malfoy a good master?"

"Oh, yes, the Master, too," he replied, nodding his head with almost too much enthusiasm. His ears flopped about wildly. "Master Malfoy was very good to Cheroo. He will miss both him and the mistress."

"Did they ever offer to pay you for your work, Cheroo?" Mrs. Potter quizzed the poor house-elf.

"No, Miss, no. Cheroo does his service out of love and respect for his family. It is his duty. Cheroo is wanting no pay and is only too happy to be welcomed into their home and allowed to serve them." He bowed low in the Malfoys' direction as he said this, and Ginny smiled at him from across the room.

Turning her gaze to her old housemate, she said, "Hermione, are you sure you won't take your elf home? We want you to have her. She will be such a blessing, what with your girls still at home; I don't know what I'd do without Shilla."

Hermione stood up and stared at Ginny. Ron watched them both. His expression was one of pleading: he had always wanted a house-elf but never quite had the means to acquire one. He had tried to win one in a poker game back while he was going through his initial training to play Quidditch professionally. But in the end, he wound up with nothing to show for his efforts, except much lighter pockets. Ginny could see the pleading in her brother's blue eyes.

"See? Even Ron wants to keep her. And since you two are practically married, you have to consider his feelings in the matter."

Trying to convince the older witch that having a house-elf would be a wonderful idea instead of a reprehensible one, she added, "You can even give her a salary, if you like." She turned to the servant and said, "Bicksy, would it be all right if Mrs. Potter were to pay you for working for her?"

The female house-elf looked up at her expectantly. "Would-would Bicksy m-mind accepting some money for working?" she repeated nervously, looking as if she would burst into tears. "If paying Bicksy would make new mistress happy . . . then no, Bicksy would not mind at all."

Hermione thought it over, then seeing the look on Ron's face, she reluctantly agreed to welcome the house-elf into her home. "All right, fine. We'll take her. I'm sure you're a very good elf, Bicksy."

Ginny smiled warmly and moved a little closer to her friend to whisper something in her ear. "If you want some money to help with her salary for the first year or so, we would be glad to contribute."

Mildly shocked, Hermione took a step back.

"No. No, thank you, Ginny. I'm sure that won't be a problem. You and Lucius have been exceedingly generous already."

"Yeah, I've got to agree with that." It was Ron, who up until now had been mostly silent. "We really appreciate what you've done. It's more than enough."

A short while later, their guests prepared to leave. The two departing house-elves told the Malfoys goodbye. Bicksy hugged her sister, Shilla, and cried as quietly as she could manage.

Observing their closeness, Hermione touched Bicksy on the head and asked her kindly, "Would you like to see your sister now and then?" The elf looked up at her new mistress and nodded with gratitude. "Then we'll see to it that you two have regular visits. That would mean more to me than money," she added pointedly as she glanced up at Ginny.

When she said this, Lucius fought the urge to gag.

As they stepped up to the fireplace to return home by Floo, Arthur called his daughter aside and asked that she stop by the Burrow a week from Sunday. "Bring the children. Molly has missed them so." They agreed on a time, and Ginny sent her parents, along with a very excited Cheroo, on their way home. Her brother and Hermione left soon afterward, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"See? I told you that would work. They didn't even bring it up," she said confidently to Lucius.

"I must say, I'm impressed. And I'm sure we can sure get by without two of our house-elves, especially _those_ two."

"What?" she asked as her mouth fell open in surprise. "You said they were both good workers! Aren't they?"

"Well, they're good enough for the Burrow and . . . " He paused momentarily before finishing his thought. "And whatever place Mrs. Potter calls 'home'. But not for Malfoy Manor. Not at all. Frankly, I'm glad to be rid of them both."

Ginny rolled her eyes and scoffed at his candor; she was not amused. In fact, she looked downright peeved.

Judging by the look on her face, Lucius knew he ought to come up with some diplomatic explanation as to why he had chosen to give membersof _her_ family the two worst elves on their housekeeping staff. That is, if he hoped to stay in her good graces and perhaps sleep with her tonight. Her aggravation was bubbling to the surface, so he only had about 30 seconds to do it.

He smiled at her slowly. "Darling," he began, gently placing his hand around her shoulder, "surely you understand. They're not _bad_ workers, but . . . it's rather like letting Nicolette go to her new post: She's nice to have around, but once she's gone . . . well, let's just say I won't think of it as a great loss."

"Since you put it that way," she replied, her anger melting away, "I guess it's all right."

Even though Cheroo and Bicksy weren't the best house-elves in the county, she knew that Molly and Hermione wouldn't mind. They would always treat their house-elves kindly and would willingly accept their less-than-perfect skills. Besides, having her own house-elf had been a dream of her mother's for as long as Ginny could remember.

She looked at Lucius and sighed. "Let's go check on the children, love."

He took her hand then walked beside her toward the wide stairs. Almost immediately, she released an involuntary "Oh!" Lucius stopped and looked at her warily.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, but the baby – it just kicked."

"Already? Isn't it a bit early for that?" he asked, thinking she must have imagined it.

"Well, I suppose so, but there are two of them this time." She shrugged it off, and the couple continued climbing the wide steps.

A few seconds later, she said, "No, there it goes again." She stopped and placed his hand on her stomach. "Here, you feel for it and tell me if I'm dreaming."

It took nearly a minute, but at last, a tiny, almost imperceptible flutter could be felt within the confines of her robes. "I would say that was definitely a kick." She looked at him smugly and then suddenly frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked her.

"Oh, it's a shame my mum just went home. She always enjoys getting to feel her grandchildren's first movements. No matter how many times it's happened before, it still brings tears to her eyes."

He raised an eyebrow. "Even though I'm their father?"

She smiled slowly and nodded up at him. "Yes, darling. Even though."

They renewed their ascent and approached the room where Rhiannon and Lucas were sleeping.

Lucas was fast asleep, but Rhiannon was restless. She was very excited at the prospect of seeing her two old friends, Lily and Jamie. She had often wondered why they had stopped coming to visit her and asked her mother when she was going to see them again.

This time, she would actually get an answer.

* * * * *

Nadine eyed the small, purple bottle in her fingers apprehensively. She was sitting at her desk early in the morning, so early that the sun had not yet fully risen. Knowing what it contained, she released a slow, shaky breath. She'd had it for weeks, knew it was safe, and yet hesitated to resort to using it.

What troubled her most was that she wasn't quite sure who had sent it; it just showed up one day in a package addressed to "The Receptionist of Brian Gilpin." Along with the bottle, there was an anonymous note from the grateful daughter of a patient whom Mr. Gilpin had treated some months before. The unknown writer mentioned that she had seen the Healer and his receptionist interact and felt certain there was something special going on, just beneath the surface. She could sense Mr. Gilpin's loneliness; all he needed was a gentle 'push', and two people's dreams would be realized.

Naturally, the young witch was suspicious at first, but then she reminded herself that as a rule, Healers did not have enemies. However, just as a precaution, she decided to have it checked by her sister-in-law, who was somewhat of a potions expert. Nadine took it upon herself to stop by one evening when she knew they would most likely be at home. Hell, she might even get a free dinner out of the deal.

"_I checked it, and it's a simple, harmless love potion," her brother Phil's wife told her over dinner at their modest London flat. "All you need do is put it in something you're sure he will eat or drink, and then give it to him. He'll be completely smitten with you."_

_Nadine fidgeted in her chair. "But how long will it last?" she wanted to know. As she said this, she looked past her sister-in-law Bridget and achingly admired her luxurious wedding robes in the photograph on the oak-colored cabinet that stood against the far wall. In it, the happy couple waved and smiled._

_Having just put some pudding into his mouth, Phil's answer was almost incomprehensible. "Permanent enough, I suppose," was what it sounded like. His wife chided him by clicking her tongue then took over._

"_What do you mean to put it in?"_

_Nadine shrugged. "I don't know. His tea?" she suggested weakly._

_Her sister-in-law frowned in her usual judgmental way then responded, "Tea may not be the best thing to use, considering that people drink it so soon after it's poured. Whatever you decide to put it in, remember that the longer it stays there before he takes it, the more effective your potion is. Of course, given that you are already friends, proximity alone may seal the deal," she added as almost an afterthought. _

While their assurances had calmed some of Nadine's fears, she still had neither the courage nor the pure audacity to go through with it. All she had to do was spill a few drops into his tea or coffee, as Bridget instructed. Yet when Brian stepped through the door on this frosty Friday morning, his face flush from the cold and looking as handsome as ever, she changed her mind: she _could_ do this, and she would. Today.

She smiled at him then looked down into her drawer at the unopened box of tea. It was a new blend that had just come out with and was being promoted much fanfare from the manufacturer. Advertisements for it had run rampant on the wizarding wireless for the last month. She rose to her feet.

The two coworkers exchanged morning pleasantries and comments about the dismal weather they were having, when she suddenly offered to make him a cup of tea. Before he could answer, she said, "I bought that new flavor everyone's been raving about, and I though you might like to try it." She followed him into his office and stood before his desk, facing him anxiously.

He hung his cloak in the small closet at the back of the room. After giving it some thought, he replied, "Thank you, no. I think I'd prefer a coffee today. Would you mind running and getting me one?"

Nadine assured him it would be no trouble at all. "In fact," she said, "I was just thinking of getting something sweet when the lady with the snack cart comes by. She should be here in the next ten minutes." Brian reached into the pocket of his trousers to withdraw two Sickels, and she laughed softly, giddy about what was to come. "Don't be silly, Brian, I'll get it." He smiled back, and she returned to the front room of the office, closing the door behind her.

"Leave it open, please," he said, startling her slightly. She opened it back up a few inches. He was reading his daily roster and didn't look up but thanked her anyway when he heard the creak.

"Not at all. I'll bring your coffee in once it's here." He nodded vaguely, paying her little mind, and continued to read.

As expected, the lady with the snack cart stopped by at her usual time of 7:25. Nadine purchased one large coffee for Brian and a cinnamon roll for herself. Once the woman left, she drew in a deep breath. The throwaway cup was so full she doubted she could add anything to it, not even cream, and its contents were almost too hot to drink. Anxious to add the potion so it could settle while the coffee cooled, she quickly poured a little of the dark brown liquid into the wilting potted plant that sat near the corner. The plant had been a gift from her brother on her last promotion and had lately fallen into neglect.

Nadine eyed the level of the drink closely; deciding there was now enough room for something extra, she carefully poured the potion in. Licking her lips, she stirred it in to mix it, glancing up at his door every few seconds to be sure she was not being watched. Then she quietly put the empty bottle back in the box it had first arrived in, which was at the back of her lower left-hand drawer – the one furthest from Brian's view. It contained mostly personal things, so she wasn't worried that he would go rummaging through it.

She waited several minutes, then picking up the still-warm beverage, judged that it wasn't too hot. In fact, she suspected he would drink it right away. Her stomach flipped in excitement as she stepped up to his office and entered.

Placing the cup directly in front of him, she said, "Here you go, Brian."

"Ah, thank you, Nadine." He took the first sip, and realizing it wasn't scalding hot, he gulped down half the cup as she watched and waited, her heart racing in her chest.

He slowly removed the cup from his lips. His eyes turned to her mint green sweater, the one with the V-neck that showed just a smidgen of cleavage, especially when she bent over his desk like she was doing just now.

"How is it, Brian?" she asked, practically breathless from the way he was looking at her.

He blinked at her. His gaze went from her eyes to the dip in the V of her sweater then up toward her lips. She could actually see his face flush slightly and hear his breath quicken. "Perfect," he whispered as he stood up. He reached across the desk, placed both hands on the sides of her face, and drew her into a passionate kiss.

"Nadine," he murmured against her lips. She felt like crying with joy and release, knowing that at last, she would be his, and that once his initial infatuation had faded, he would grow to adore her, just as she adored him. She secretly thanked her unknown benefactor as she enthusiastically returned his kisses. Brian shut the door with a nonchalant wave of his hand and locked it, and she cast a Silencing Charm.

Sometimes, things just work out beautifully. Brian's morning calendar had been clear of any appointments, and no owls had arrived. The only person who stopped by had left without so much as knocking.

When the new lovers finally emerged from their sanctuary at around 9:30, Nadine was feeling quite pleased with herself. She smirked at the cinnamon roll she had left setting on her desk. Of course, by now, it was cold, hard, and barely edible . . . but then, they often were that way to begin with.

Suddenly, something caught her eye.

She cocked her head sideways when she noticed that a single bite had been taken out of it. Had she taken a nibble of it herself and just forgotten?

That was when she noticed a folded slip of parchment protruding from underneath the paper plate. She swallowed guiltily; did somebody know? They _had_ used a Silencing Charm – hadn't they?

Picking up the note, Nadine slipped it into her pocket and shouted to Brian that she had to run to the loo. She did, and once she found a stall, turned around so no one could see her face if they peeked inside and started to read.

_Nadine, _

_I see you finally used the love potion. I hope he lived up to your expectations. Congratulations on your conquest. _

_I hate to bring this up – I know how love can sometimes overwhelm one's better judgment – but consummating your relationship on top of a desk at Saint Mungo's could be construed as illegal use of Ministry resources. These offices are for helping the sick and afflicted, not for your personal gratification. Since you were both supposed to be working, and what you were doing in there could hardly be considered 'working', it could become a bothersome issue for the two of you, if you intend to remain employed at Saint Mungo's._

_Now that we understand one another, my dear girl, you must do something if you wish to avoid a very embarrassing situation which could end up in a very bad way for you and for Mr. Gilpin. You must leave the country – go to America, perhaps – and entice your lover to go with you. That shouldn't be terribly difficult, as things stand now. _

_As it happens, I know a gentleman who runs a wizarding hospital in a city called Amarillo, Texas. I feel certain a Healer of Mr. Gilpin's qualifications could find a position on their staff. Send an owl posthaste to a Mr. Sheldon Porter requesting a post be found for your darling Brian. I have already sent an owl to him myself, and since Shelly owes me a favor, I feel certain he will hire Mr. Gilpin without hesitation._

_Know that I am not a person to be trifled with; test me, and you will find yourself on the worse end of things. To avoid this becoming public, and rather embarrassing for you both, you must be gone within the month. _

_Sincerely, _

_A Concerned Friend_

She burst into tears. "Oh, what have I done?" She ripped up the note and dropped it into the toilet. Furious, she flushed the evidence away. Knowing that Brian would probably be waiting for her, if not out in the hallway, then at least in his office, she fought to gather her composure. After removing any traces of her brief crying fit, she flung the door open and stepped out into the hallway. She was instantly pulled into Brian's arms.

"Darling, are you all right?" he asked her, his eyes filled with genuine care.

Nadine swallowed and cleared her throat. The love in his eyes made her nearly forget what she had been upset about. "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be, with you by my side?"

* * * * *

That evening, there was a knock on the front door of Stella Winterbourne's flat. She wasn't expecting anyone and almost decided not to answer. When the visitor said her name was Ginny, the Muggle physician opened the door with a friendly smile.

It was not Ginny, but her fiancé. "You're Lucius Malfoy," she said without a moment's hesitation, but not without a twinge of fear. She slid back behind the door and grabbed onto the knob, in case she felt the need to slam it in his face. "I've heard about you."

Something about his smile made her very, very nervous.

"And what have you heard, Dr. Winterbourne? Good things, I trust?"

His smile faded in an instant. Without waiting for permission, he stepped in through the barely-opened door. He soon had her backed up against the wall, one hand wrapped around her throat, his wand in the other. "You listen here, you Muggle filth," he snarled. "I will not have you or that stupid cousin of yours ruin my life. Neither of you will take away what is rightfully _mine_. Ginevra belongs to me, whether or not we are married. And because I have no intention of returning to prison, I will take something from _you_ that will ensure my freedom."

He could see the fear in her eyes and smirked. A simple _Oblivate_, and all was forgotten: the results of Ginny's paternity test, the fact that he had just threatened her, and that she, Hermione, and Brian had been on the verge of uncovering the truth about that March night two years prior. Almost as an afterthought, he added a little extra insurance to the spell: If the matter of who Lucas's father was should arise, Stella would suddenly get a ferocious and unexplainable headache.

By the time she was aware of him, she had no idea what he was doing there. "Mr. Malfoy, is it?" she asked. "Why – what are you doing here?"

"Stella," he said to her kindly, as if they were old friends. "I was just here to ask if you knew where Ginevra was. She told me she might stop by and see you this evening."

The doctor squinted, blinking back the pain behind her eyes. Raising a hand to her brow, she said, "No, she isn't here. I haven't seen her in . . . quite a while, actually. I'm sorry."

"No matter." His tone was as casual as if the two had just been talking about the latest fracas within England's royal family."I suppose I should be going now. Sorry to have troubled you. Good night." He walked out into the darkness and swiftly closed the door behind him.

Stella shook her head and shut her eyes tightly. Her heart was pounding. Had something happened while Mr. Malfoy was there? Why had she even asked him to come inside? Still, she couldn't remember anything odd happening. She cautiously peeked out the front window, afraid to open the door but not sure why. She scanned the pavement for his retreating figure, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The next morning, she would wonder if Lucius had even been there at all. Perhaps she had dreamed the whole thing. She _had_ been very tired, having worked almost 11 hours yesterday. She decided then and there that she was done with the wizarding world. Doubtless, it was perplexing and fascinating, but far too frightening. She wanted nothing more to do with it, ever.

~End of Chapter~

Notes: Thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated. :-)


	23. Chapter 22

Author's Notes: It's nearly 6,500 words, but I give you: the ending. Thank you, persephone33, for the beta read.

In this chapter: Everything else.

_**Mala Fide: In Bad Faith – Chapter 22**_

Edmund Goodspeak, his partner Rothchild Petree, and a number of junior Aurors were all waiting in suspense in front of a fireplace. They had been waiting there since noon. It was somewhat unusual that they should be at the office at all on a Sunday, sitting in a loose horseshoe-shaped formation, staring into the flames. Normally, anyone who worked weekends would have been out in the field, chasing down leads and bringing in the occasional prisoner.

Now and then, one of the Aurors would look away and blink a little, trying in vain to re-accustom his eyesight to the comparative dimness of the barely-lit room they were waiting in. One of them muttered something under his breath, followed by a yawn and an impatient sigh from across the room. Another of the younger Aurors readjusted his bum in the not-too-comfortable wooden chair. Out of the blue, someone remarked that a cup of tea just now would be quite nice.

"No," the only woman there said, "it's too early in the day. Besides, we just had lunch an hour ago."

After a moment or so, the first Auror grumbled, "Aww, stuff it, I'm getting some." He came back a few minutes later with a throwaway cup full of piping hot tea, complete with honey, lemon, and milk. He drank from it then sighed with satisfaction. "You should get a cup, too, Aggie. It's really good." He took another sip then added, "This vendy machine idea old Weasley had was marvelous."

Aggie just rolled her eyes. Beckham, one of their other coworkers, clicked his tongue. "It's a vend-_ing_ machine, you twit. And it wasn't like Arthur invented it; he just saw them in the Muggle world, as I did myself, having grown up in it. Seeing as this one was abandoned, he altered it for our coinage and magicked it to serve perfect tea." As he was saying this, he realized that he, too, wanted a cup and hopped up out of his chair to pursue one.

Petree scoffed quietly but did not detain him. Beckham wasn't a pureblood, or even a half-blood for that matter. That being the case, the senior Auror figured that he had the least to offer this mission, and if he somehow got left behind . . . well, that was fine by him.

Old prejudices still died hard in this modern wizarding age.

When Beckham returned with his cup, yet another man decided that tea sounded like a very good idea indeed. But as the undetermined time was surely getting far too close for comfort, Rothchild cleared his throat, releasing a loud, "Ahem," then shook his head slowly, indicating that the time for refreshments was over. Any minute now, a head of silvery blond hair would appear in the fireplace, announcing that the way was clear.

They all knew it to be true, without either of their superiors saying a word.

Beckham had just enough time to gulp down his tea when the flames stirred at last, drawing every eye in the room toward them. Lucius Malfoy appeared and whispered the two words they had been waiting nearly three hours to hear: _"It's time."_

* * * * *

Cheroo met Ginny and her children at the front door of the Burrow. He was very pleased to see his former mistress and welcomed her, Rhiannon, and Lucas with much excitement. After the enthusiastic welcome, the two youngest Malfoys joined their grandmother in the kitchen, while Ginny went out on the grounds in search of her father.

As was typical on a lazy Sunday afternoon, Arthur was out in his shed studying some bizarre Muggle contraption. He was deep in concentration, never taking his eyes off the wire in his right hand. Each time he touched it with the wire in his left, it would just begin to glow and then gradually fade. This went on for at least two or three minutes.

At last, his daughter cleared her throat to announce her presence and said, "Hello, Dad."

Completely startled that she had come in, he jumped and replied, "Oh! Hullo, Ginny."

"What _is_ that, and what does it do?" she asked, genuinely curious and completely baffled.

Looking at her and then back to his project, Arthur put the wires down as he admitted, "Truth be told, I'm not quite sure – yet. All I know is one wire meets the other, and the first one glows briefly then goes out. I can't imagine what its purpose is!"

She smiled softly at him, glad that some things would never change, including her father's fascination with all things Muggle. He looked back at his confounding discovery and moaned, "Oh, I wish Hermione were here; she'd know in an instant."

Ginny clicked her tongue, shook her head, and crossed her arms. "Dad, just because she grew up with Muggles and is extremely intelligent doesn't mean she knows every single thing they've ever invented." He shrugged and tried to ignore the fact that she was probably right.

Arthur spent a few more minutes of staring at the mess before him then stood up, exasperated. He turned away from the frustrating device and wiped his hands with a rag that hung from the pocket of his jeans. Ginny grinned as she noticed the rag hadn't exactly removed the residue but had instead made it worse. She silently charmed his hands clean. "Better? Now, what did you want to talk with me about, Dad?"

He looked around the cluttered shed then said, "Not here. Let's go out to the garden. I think I heard your mum saying it needed to be de-gnomed again anyway. And," he added with a faint smile, "you know what they say: happy wife, happy life."

She groaned. She'd always detested de-gnoming the garden. "Oh, I _hate_ doing that – the nasty little buggers always bite my fingers!" Then she suggested, "What about Cheroo? Can't he take care of mundane tasks like that?"

Arthur grimaced once more. "Well, he's better at, shall we say, simple household chores. Don't get me wrong, your mother loves having him around; but he has quite a lot to learn about taking care of our home."

"Really?" she said with a sheepish grin, thinking back on what Lucius had said about the inept servant. "I do hope he's working out all right."

"Of course he is, my dear. It's just that . . . having an elf is so _new_ for us." He put his right hand in the small of her back and said, "Now, let's go take that walk."

Just before they emerged into the sunshine of the mild winter's day, he latched onto two pairs of thick working gloves and handed one to his daughter. "Here. These might make the task a little more bearable."

"Thanks," she said with a hint of sarcasm. After taking a moment to check inside the fingers for spiders, she slipped her hands into the bulky gloves. Much to her chagrin, she found that they were almost as rough on the inside as they were on the outside. It had been a while since Ginny had had to do any form of chores, and she didn't look forward to renewing her acquaintance with any of them, this one in particular.

She sighed internally; at least it meant that she and her father would be communicating again. So it was probably worth it.

Once each of them had successfully flung out a few gnomes, Arthur stood up straight and cleared his throat. The act signified that he was ready to talk about what he had asked her here for. He didn't want to have this conversation, least of all with his own daughter, so he broached the subject as gently as he could.

"I understand you've been to the Ministry recently and that you visited with Edmund Goodspeak and Rothchild Petree."

"Yes, I have," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Why? What happened when you saw them?"

Ginny explained the gist of their accusations that Lucius might have been the one who had attacked her, and that he was on a suspect list in one or two missing persons cases. "But they were able to clear his name with Veritaserum and memories that were put into a Pensieve," she insisted.

Arthur nodded. His face was grim. Meanwhile, one of the gnomes they had tossed out of the garden earlier snuck back inside and bit him sharply on the leg.

"Oww!!" He kicked his leg reflexively and threw the creature off. It darted away before it could be picked up and flung once more. "And _stay_ out!"

Now that the excitement of the moment had gone, as well as most of the gnomes, her father returned to the matter at hand. He sounded rather nervous. "Be that as it may, we are very concerned for you. According to Petree and his partner, the man you are about to marry may not have left his tainted past completely behind him." He lowered his voice and whispered, "Evil remains in his house . . . the home where you, and your children, now live."

She looked at him and said quite seriously, "I know that, Dad. The Aurors promised that if we provided the means through which – the portal to get to You-Know-Who – that they would destroy him. Or at least, do what they can to get rid of him."

"Ginny," Arthur said, shaking his head, "don't you see? You-Know-Who _has_ to be gone before you get married to Lucius. Otherwise, you could be forced to take his mark. It's usually a requirement for the spouse."

The news hit her like a bucket filled with ice and water. She gaped at him in silent disbelief, and he exhaled heavily.

"That's what I thought. Didn't mention that part, did he? The only reason you avoided it with Draco was because he had switched sides and sworn loyalty to the Ministry _before_ your wedding. But with Lucius . . . well, frankly, we're not so sure. There's been a lot of speculation and rumors floating around about him." He shook his head once more. "He's not out of the clear yet, and by association, neither are you – which is why it is imperative that you help them get rid of You-Know-Who."

She looked pale. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" she asked him, as if it were all _his_ fault that she didn't know.

At that, he laughed bitterly and said, "Well, you weren't exactly extending invitations to your house these last few months, now, were you?" Ginny didn't respond.

After several moments' silence, she acquiesced. "When?"

"As soon as possible. This case has become a high priority for them, and they can be there on very short notice."

She nodded and pursed her lips. "Do they have a plan? Do Lucius and I need to know about it, or do we just – have to let them in the front door?"

"They said they would need Lucius' help to access the portal." When her eyes widened, he explained, "He's been in meetings all week with Goodspeak and Petree. He knows that _they_ know they need him to gain entrance. Then he will force Peter Pettigrew to let the others in."

"Force him? Force him how?"

Arthur looked away. His eyes surveyed the last row of beets, as if they were suddenly extremely interesting.

"By any means necessary – even by using the Imperius curse, if need be."

Now it was Ginny's turn to laugh. "Oh, so it's all right for Ministry employees to have people cast Unforgivables for _them_, but a life sentence in Azkaban for anyone else who casts one without their 'approval'! Well, that _is_ convenient, I must say!" she finished with a sneer.

Her father ignored her scathing remark. Putting one hand on her forearm, he said fervently, "Ginny, you can't know how important this is!" When she struggled to break free of his hold, he latched on even tighter. "Lucius's full cooperation is the only way to a possible pardon. It would show whether he is loyal to the Ministry of Magic, to the Dark Lord . . . or perhaps only to himself. Only then will he be free of suspicion. I just don't want his past to throw a shadow over your marriage – or worse, ruin your life."

Only now did she realize the weight of the predicament the two of them were in. She swallowed hard and nodded, her eyes staring off vacantly.

"All right. What can I do to make it happen?"

"You, my dear, do nothing." He released a shaky breath, reached into his pocket, and withdrew his watch. Opening it, he added, "In fact, if everything went according to plan, it should be over by now."

Ginny was shocked. Livid. Her eyes went as wide as Arthur had ever seen them then narrowed dangerously. He had rather expected this reaction, as she had definitely inherited his wife's temper. "What?! You put my future husband at this kind of risk and didn't even _tell_ me?" she lashed out.

"No, it wasn't me, Ginny! It was the Aurors' idea. My only part in this was to get you and the children safely away from the house." As he said this, her face was starting to turn red.

"How dare they? Didn't I give those bastards _enough_ information?"

Arthur looked up at her in surprise. He was about to reiterate what a precarious position Lucius was in, but his speech was suddenly interrupted by the sound of alarmed shouts coming from the house.

Just then, the screen door flew open and banged against the house. Molly came running outside as fast as she could, making a beeline toward her husband's shed.

"Arthur!" she shrieked then repeated his name.

He waved his arms so she could see him and called back to her, "I'm in the garden, Molly! What's happened?"

"Oh, Arthur! Arthur, come quick!" She panted, "There's someone on the Floo for you! He says it's urgent – you must come now!" She was out of breath and had one hand to her heart. She hadn't even bothered to set down the red checkered hot pad she had been holding before she bolted out the front door.

He wasted no time jumping to the right conclusion. "Is it someone from the Ministry?"

"Yes, yes. An Edward someone." She sniffed as she fought to catch her breath. Motioning for her daughter to come as well, she said, "You, too, Ginny. Come along inside."

"Edmund Goodspeak?" her husband asked stoically. "Did he say anything?"

"No. He didn't, but he sounded very concerned. Please hurry!"

As the three of them stepped inside the house, Ginny whispered to her mother in a frightened tone, asking where the children were. Molly pointed toward the ceiling, indicating they were upstairs, either napping or playing in one of the rooms. The adults went directly to the fireplace. Arthur addressed the face in it. "Edmund," he began, "what's happened?"

"It's a mess, Arthur. An absolute, bloody mess."

"Is, um, You-Know-Who, uh . . . destroyed? Dead?"

"Yes, thank Merlin. But it wasn't easy, nor without loss of life."

Ginny's heart sunk to her shoes as her eyes filled with tears. "Who was it, Edmund? I must know; is Lucius . . . all right?" She couldn't bring herself to say the word 'dead'.

He drew a ragged breath. "He sustained some injuries, as most of us did. It was a tough battle. But we're pretty sure he'll live."

She couldn't believe how he'd worded it. Lucius's prospects didn't exactly sound bright, but she couldn't think what else to say. Seeing that his daughter was unable to form any other words, Arthur asked on her behalf, "What happened, exactly?"

If the Auror answered, Ginny wasn't aware of it. Her mind couldn't focus on anything he was saying. It seemed that Lucius was hurt, and rather badly.

Her thoughts were miles away as time slowed down. To have lost Draco so young, so suddenly . . . to have found happiness again with a man so like him in many ways, yet different, and now to be facing the possibility of losing this love as well, was too much to take. Her head swimming, she felt like she might faint.

At length, she became vaguely aware of someone saying her name, and the voices around her returned. The sounds floated into her ears but made no sense. But none of that mattered. She had to see Lucius – _now_. She couldn't wait.

Cutting one of the men off in mid-sentence, she demanded, "Where is he, Edmund?"

"He's at Saint Mungo's on the fourth floor. You needn't worry, Mrs. Malfoy. He's being very well cared for."

She didn't wait to hear anything more. She only knew she had to be at his side and ran for the door. Understanding completely, her mother chased after her. She knew what her daughter was feeling: she'd felt a similar sense of urgency when they'd told her to come quickly because Percy had been wounded.

Molly cried to her youngest, "Ginny, wait! You're in shock, dear. You're not focused enough to Apparate! Arthur, you take her. Take her with you, so she doesn't get hurt, too," she implored.

He nodded once to his wife. Then he made his excuses to Goodspeak, thanked him, and swiftly left the house. Grabbing onto his daughter's arm, he locked it in the crook of his own and Apparated to Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

* * * * *

"I do," she responded to the officiator.

When asked, the groom gazed at the woman beside him, awestruck, and said with quiet reverence, "You know I do."

"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."

And so Hermione became Mrs. Ronald Weasley, in a quiet, private ceremony that included only family and a few friends in the backyard of her parents' home. Ginny was there as a bridesmaid, but her fiancé was not. He was still at Saint Mungo's recovering from his injuries.

As Edmund had reported, not everyone who had been at Malfoy Manor that day had been so lucky. Among the deceased were three of the junior Aurors, Peter Pettigrew, and You-Know-Who himself. Beckham ended up losing the use of his left arm trying to protect Rothchild Petree from a curse. Petree had been hospitalized for a week and a half, but he was now resting at his mother's home in Bristol. Even now, the Healers weren't sure if he would ever walk again.

When it was all over, parts of the home were in absolute shambles. Some of the walls were barely standing, while an interior wall was completely gone; the ceiling had fallen in from the second floor and landed on top of Lucius's desk; and there wasn't one solid piece of glass left in his entire study. Every pane had been completely blown out. The Aurors' intent had been to keep the battle within the dimension where the Dark Lord had been residing, but it soon spilled out into the home itself and wreaked its havoc there. Even a house-elf who had been tending to his dusting duties near the Master's study had suffered minor burns to the back of his ear as he tried to scurry out of the line of fire. The Ministry felt it was their duty to repair whatever damages had been done to the property, and the Malfoys' remaining house-elves were more than happy to help.

During the repairs to their home, Ginny and her children remained at the Burrow. It seemed a strange yet amusing place to Rhiannon; Lucas, however, was still a little too young to think much of their change in residence. Ginny did her best to remain consistent with them so that the temporary relocation wasn't too upsetting for them. Rhiannon inquired after her grandfather, and young though he was, Lucas seemed to miss him, too. Their mother tried not to cry as she explained that he was away but would return to them very soon.

Fortunately, there were many diversions for Rhiannon. She got to play with Lily and Jamie Potter every day for a whole week, which thrilled her to no end. The girls were staying with the Weasleys there while their mum was on her honeymoon. Being reunited with such good friends, Ginny's daughter found the Burrow to be a delightful change of pace, despite some of their odd rituals, the peculiar look of the house in general, and the fact that these grandparents had, as she observed, a 'very tiny dining table'. She was amazed to learn that there had sometimes been as many as 15 to 20 people around it at one time, wondering how any of them had room to eat.

One afternoon, an owl arrived for Ginny carrying news that she had been awaiting for days on end. She tore into the letter and waved her hand at the bird away to shoo it away. When it tried to nip at her hand in disgust at not getting the expected treat, Molly quickly found a tidbit for the owl to eat and then waved him on his way.

"Who's it from, dear?"

She answered her mother without looking up. "It's from Saint Mungo's. Sent by Paul Travers, the Healer in charge of Lucius's care." Her lips pursed as she read on. "He says Lucius had improved but seems to have gotten an infection. He should recover swiftly, but there is still some concern. Paul asked me to come down there as soon as I can," she finished quietly, her voice shaking.

"Should the children come, too?" Molly wondered aloud, but her daughter shook her head.

"I can't see how that would help at this stage," she whispered as she fought back tears. She stood up and grabbed her cloak. Her mother smiled, trying to remain cheerful.

"I'm sure everything's fine, darling. He's . . . well, he's young-_ish_, and he has so much to look forward to with you," she said caringly, placing one hand on her daughter's back and the other on her bulging abdomen. "I think he'll do all he can to come back home to you."

Ginny nodded then left to be at her fiance's bedside once more.

* * * * *

"Ginevra, my love. You've come at last." His voice sounded weak, like he had just woken up.

"Of course, I did. I've come every day this week; you just weren't alert enough to realize it," she said, smiling at him sadly. She studied him for a few moments before passing judgment. "You're actually looking better and much stronger than you were just a few days ago."

He sighed. "I'm glad to hear it. I do feel a little better. My shoulder is still sore from where that bastard Pettigrew got me."

"I know, they told me you needed quite a bit of work in that area. So it's still painful, then?" she asked as she reached out to him. Lucius winced slightly when she touched it and closed his eyes.

Ginny apologized then looked over her shoulder toward the door. Two hospital workers crossed her line of sight; talking between themselves, neither of them paid her any mind. She desperately wanted to know more about that fateful day, she closed it then turned the lock. She sat down in the chair next to his bed.

"You know, you looked dreadful when they first brought you in. What I don't follow is how did _you_ end up here, and in that condition, when some of them didn't have much more than a few scratches?" She couldn't keep the frustration out of her voice, as if she were disappointed that he'd been hurt at all. After all, wasn't that why Aurors got hazard pay?

"Actually, I was very lucky. Some of the others didn't come back at all," he reminded her frankly.

Feeling a bit guilty, Ginny retracted. "Yes, I heard that. But why are you still in hospital, when nearly everyone else has gone home?" Lucius half-chuckled at the displeasure in her tone. It endeared her to him even more.

"Because, darling, I was the one broke the rules. One doesn't just barge in on Lord Voldemort; one has to be invited by him, or at least, follow proper procedure by contacting Pettigrew first and requesting an audience."

"Well, I _guess_ that makes sense," she said at last and dropped the matter. "I suppose I should be grateful that things weren't worse for you." She stared down at the maroon blank on his bed. Fidgeting slightly, she admitted at last, "You know, I never did get how that all worked. Did he . . . _live_ in our house, or within it, somehow?"

"Yes, and no. We used the portal my father had left me to shift the dimensions so the Dark Lord, and whoever he wanted to see, could meet. So I suppose he was sort of a resident of Malfoy Manor. Still, since _I_ let uninvited guests in, I had to be punished for my audacity – and he was furious with me.

"Unfortunately, I didn't really have time to prepare or focus on him, having just had my shoulder scorched by Pettigrew. When I saw Lord Voldemort's wand aimed straight for my eyes, a cold smile on his inhuman face, I was terrified. But I couldn't attack him; my arm just fell to my side."

Ginny thought about what her dad had told her a few weeks earlier about Death Eaters who got married: that their spouses were usually claimed by Voldemort as well. Although she believed in her heart that Lucius truly wanted to be rid of this cursed life, she was still concerned about his intentions. If she even suspected he had meant to make her a Death Eater, then she could not marry him.

But how could she ask him that, without just coming out and saying it?

"I need your help understanding something," she said at last, her brow furrowed in confusion. "If you wanted him gone like everybody else did, why do you still call him that?"

"What do you mean? Call him what?" he asked, confused as well.

She looked at him seriously. "_Lord_ Voldemort," she sneered, "Lord _anything_. Harry always just said 'Voldemort'. No respect implied, no title of 'Dark Lord' . . . nothing. The man was a bloody killer with a phony, made-up name. He didn't deserve anything akin to respect."

He swallowed and looked down at his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry, love. You're right. It's an old habit, but one I'll try to stop."

"Thank you." Ginny smiled a bit then prompted him, "You were saying?"

"Yes. Well, my arm dropped as if all my muscles had just gone to sleep. I don't even remember letting go of my wand. Only when I heard it clatter to the floor was I aware that I was unarmed and almost certain of what was coming next. Honestly, I-I thought I would never see you again, and that frightened me more than anything."

She gazed into his gray eyes, trying to interpret his feelings. Lucius continued, saying, "No matter how badly I wanted him dead, I _couldn't_ fight against him. I'm sure it's one of his defense mechanisms he places on all Death Eaters to keep them from trying to take over and rule in his place." He looked at her solemnly. "Ginevra, I've never felt so helpless. I have to say, I'm thankful I was able to walk out alive, without needing someone to carry me."

"How many men came to the manor to fight them?" she asked.

"Eight, not including myself. And one woman."

Ginny frowned. With that many Aurors, she wondered why the lot of them couldn't just take out two rogue wizards. Still, she knew this was no ordinary dark wizard.

At last, she said, "I've heard a rumor that You-Know-Who's power was somewhat diminished after his last battle with Harry. If it was two against nine, I would think you should have been able to defeat them easily – that is, if everyone gave their all."

He gaped at her. "Are you suggesting I was merely bait, and that the Aurors didn't care if I lived or died?"

"No!" she gasped in reply. "No, of course not. I'm sure your safety was a top priority for them; they couldn't have done this without your cooperation."

Lucius shook his head and licked his lips. "Of course, everyone gave their all . . . not that I had much to give, considering I couldn't fight against him. But there were other problems besides just his power and abilities, which, by the way, were not _that_ diminished."

"Such as?"

"The biggest problem we faced was a Lethargia curse he had cast on the dimension. I doubt you've ever heard of it, as its existence is denied in most textbooks. When used correctly, it can slow down your enemies' reactions. It spreads out like a thick fog and curls up in the corners and around walls and pillars. Because it hangs in the air, it doesn't focus on a single person; it affects every enemy in the realm. That's why so many were hurt or killed."

Now she felt even worse for having suggested that her fiance had somehow held back so that Voldemort could live. But she had to know. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm sure it wasn't easy." She took his hand and caressed his fingers.

The pair was silent for several moments. Suddenly, Lucius scoffed then said, "In the end, Peter didn't prove as useful as his master hoped he would. A few minutes in, old Wormtail must have realized that some of the Aurors had found the will to resist the Lethargia. They were starting to fight back, and it was clear from his expression that he was horrified. You should have heard him wailing. It was pathetic.

"Seizing his opportunity, an Auror called Beckham knocked Peter's arm out of the way, sending the spell he had just cast flying toward the entrance. It split the portal wide open, sending the remaining fog out into the manor and bright light streaming back in. Peter fell to his knees, folded his fat little hands, and started to beg for his life; when he promised a full confession and swore that he had been under the Imperius, the Dark Lord – er, Voldemort – used the killing curse on his aide himself.

"I was relieved momentarily, until he turned to where I was standing and silently tried to force _me_ to do his bidding. His eyes locked on mine. Without saying a word, his voice was thundering in my head, the command ringing in my ears . . . 'Lucius,' it echoed, 'I command you to kill them. Kill them _all_.' I found my wand, and without even thinking, my arm went up. One of the Aurors pushed me aside, and Voldemort stepped out of the shadows and made a dash for the portal.

"The place erupted into chaos. Spells were flying everywhere, and he managed to slip through the portal. They followed close behind him. When he bolted, he lost his fleeting connection to me. He tried to fight them all at once, and again, he called on me to help. It angered him that I ignored his pleas. Arrogant till the end, he refused to be taken alive. And just like that, his life was snuffed out, as if he were an ordinary human."

Silence filled the room. Ginny stroked his hair and waited for him to continue. When he said nothing more, she asked something she had wanted to know but couldn't decide how best to say it. So she put it bluntly: "Can I see your forearm?"

Lucius raised his left arm to allow the sleeve of his thin hospital robes to drop down and turned his pale, exposed skin toward her. Nothing remained of the hideous tattoo he had worn for most of his life. As she ran her fingers over the unblemished flesh, she smiled softly. "How did that feel, to see it gone?"

"Like a millstone had been lifted off my shoulders. It might sound cliché, but there's no other word than 'free'." As he said this, she poured both of them a glass of water.

"And your problems with the Ministry – are they over? Really, completely over?"

He nodded then took a sip from the glass she had just handed to him. "Yes. Goodspeak said the help I gave them was invaluable. I should receive a full pardon any day now, and any pending cases against me will be dropped."

She finished her water and took his hand and squeezed it. "Was anything else damaged besides your shoulder? Anything I should, umm, know about?" she asked. He hesitated momentarily.

"When I first got here, I slept most the time. But once I started to come around, I realized that I could barely see anything. The Healers feared the worst."

"Oh, that must have been awful," she whispered.

"Yes. But gradually, the sight in my right eye returned, and my left . . . well, it seems to be getting better every day," he assured her.

"I'm glad you're doing better. What a relief!"

"Quite, my dear. To never be able to see your face again, or the twins, or watch Lucas and Rhiannon grow up. It would be unbearable."

"Oh, Lucius. I'm so very proud of you, for resisting and for helping to bring him down."

He smiled at the love in her voice then chuckled.

"What is it?"

"Is the house – dare I ask – still standing, or will we have to move in with your parents like young newlyweds?" She promised him that the manor was nearly back to normal.

Then she said something completely out of the blue. She had a knack for disarming her fiancé by saying such things. "You know, darling," she began. "There _is_ something I've always wondered."

"Yes?"

"How did you ever get your hands on a Time Turner? I thought they were strictly controlled by the Ministry."

"There are, but . ." And he added in a whisper, even though the door was still locked, "You'd be surprised what pouring a few hundred Galleons into Fudge's campaign could get you."

"Oh, really?" she said, her eyes widening as her lips drew into a smile.

"Horrible man, really. Far too easily influenced by his own wants to keep a level head. The old fool had no business leading anyone."

Ginny observed wryly, "Well then, I guess that makes two corrupt wizards the world is better off without." She leaned down and kissed him.

* * * * *

Lucius returned home before the week was out. The sight in his left eye appeared to have returned to normal, for the most part. Mr. Travers had confided in his patient that it would probably never be completely as good as it was, but neither man saw any reason to let Mrs. Malfoy know.

By now, most of the damage to the manor had been repaired. All that remained was a little repainting and restoring of some antique furniture the Malfoys did not wish to replace. The children were delighted to see Lucius again, and Rhiannon insisted on taking her pony out for a ride around the grounds. Her mother chided the girl for having suggested such a selfish thing, but her grandfather would not deny her. "Tomorrow morning," he promised. "It will have to be a short ride, though. I am still somewhat tired." This seemed to satisfy the little girl. She turned and ran off to play with her brother. The adults retired to Lucius's study, where they sat next to each other on the sofa.

Ginny looked around the room then asked what had happened to the orb – the innocuous-looking object that had been used to enter the other dimension where You-Know-Who had spent hiding for all those years. He explained, "Actually, it got knocked off my desk the day you went to the Burrow."

"And it broke, right?" she asked, a bit doubtful.

"Eventually, yes. At first, it landed right there, on the rug," he explained as he pointed to the Persian rug that covered the space underneath his desk. "Seeming to be unaffected by the fall of over two feet, it bounced once, then again. When it hit the wood floor just beyond the edge of the rug, it finally shattered."

"Well, it's certainly a relief to have _that_ gone, and to find out that it was breakable."

"Afterward, Petree and Goodspeak swooped up the broken pieces and took them with them – just in case."

Lucius reached for her left hand, picked it up, and admired the engagement ring she had gotten at Mr. Freels's jewelry shop. "That's quite pretty, you know," he told her. "I like it."

"Yes, it is lovely. Thank you for getting it for me."

"It _does_ need a partner, though, doesn't it?" he said, turning her hand to watch the light shining off the stones. "A band right next to it would be nice. And a matching one for me, of course."

"I wouldn't say no, if that's you want." She gazed into his eyes then kissed him tenderly, her lids fluttering shut.

"So you still want to marry me? I haven't completely mucked this whole thing up, have I?"

She laughed at him and put her hands on both sides of his face. "You owe me, mister, and you know it. If you think you're getting out it _this_ easily, you're sadly mistaken."

Reaching into his robes, he withdrew a slip of parchment with lots of fancy writing and held it between them. "Then I guess it's a good thing I got this marriage license from the Ministry earlier this morning."

"Ah, very clever, Lucius. And when do you intend to use this?" she asked, taking it out of his hands to study it.

"As soon as we can get an officiator here. Today, if you like." He called for his most loyal house-elf, "Toddy!" When the servant popped in, his master ordered him, "Get someone here to perform a marriage ceremony, and have your sister find something suitable for Mrs. Malfoy to wear. Then find a photographer, and be sure to get my lady some flowers."

Following the exchanging of vows in a very private ceremony, the two of them spent the afternoon in each others' arms, looking forward to the rest of their lives together.

~The End~

Notes: To my wonderful readers, I can't thank you enough for your endless patience, especially any of you who have been hanging in there year after year (and I'm sure were probably thinking that this saga might _never_ end). To you, a million and one thanks for waiting so patiently for this last chapter. I always knew I would finish it one day, and I promise never to take anywhere near this long on any future story I write. :-)

I know this fic took a lot of twists and turns, and the outcome may be surprising, but that's the fun of writing fanfic: you can take it wherever you want to, and this seemed like where it should end. I really hope you enjoyed reading it. Thanks again.


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